


death of a bachelor

by jenhyung



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: Gongmyung is getting married! Doyoung is troubled with the upcoming changes, but he gets to meet Taeyong along the way. — Doyoung / Taeyong (Life!AU)





	1. the first wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: over 15k+ of pure... crap..., too fast paced, plot holes, and bad bad bad bad bad smut bad bad bad bad, i’m sorry (kissing, fingering)

“You know, you should really be more interested in this whole ordeal.”

“Ordeal?” Doyoung snorts, thumbing a particularly nasty colored suit. “Did you mean my brother’s wedding?”

Yuta tuts, reaching for the tag on one of the suits, gagging when he sees the price, “Yeah, I don’t know what’s got your panties in a knot.”

“They’re _not_ in a knot,” Doyoung hisses.

It’s a fairly large store, with racks and racks of neatly pressed suits for all occasions. Doyoung and Yuta were tasked to source for great quality suits at prices that wouldn’t leave them all in debt. Gongmyung was insistent that Doyoung played a part in the wedding planning, despite his reluctance.

“At least you’re on the wedding team,” Yuta grumbles, still bitter that he wasn’t one of Gongmyung’s many groomsmen. There were eight of them in total, in order to level out with eight of Hyesung’s best friends (the bride-to-be), but Yuta, as Gongmyung’s soccer junior, didn’t make the cut. (“He’s more like _your_ best friend,” Gongmyung had told Doyoung when asked why Yuta wasn’t picked.).

Doyoung was, of course, his best man, “I’m his brother, I don’t really have a choice.”

He didn’t know who the other groomsmen were, apart from Taeil, who was a neighbor from their childhood days, and then after, one of their favorite friends.

The first meeting for the groomsmen was that very night. It was supposed to be casual, just dinner and some drinks so that they could all get to know one another. The concept of it was just horrifying to Doyoung.

To accommodate, Gongmyung encouraged Doyoung to bring Yuta along if he was going to feel nervous, and he jumped at the offer. Yuta may be a pain in the ass, but he still brings Doyoung a sense of comfort. Even if it means bickering in front of six other guys they’ve never met before.

There was something about the entire thing that made his stomach churn. The planning, decorating, speech writing, bachelor partying… It wasn’t that Doyoung didn’t like Hyesung either. They’ve all been friends since high school, and Doyoung’s tagged along on enough dates to be the resident lightbulb in their loving relationship.

Doyoung wasn’t sure why it’s been putting him in a bad mood, but he knows that he’d rather keep it to himself.

“I don’t get why we have to shop for it now,” Doyoung complains, lazily scanning a rack of suits that all pretty much looked the same to him. “The wedding is in, what, a year!”

“These things take time,” Yuta smacks him lightly, still scrutinizing at the suits with much interest. “Stop being a wet blanket, weddings are happy events.”

Yuta, who came from a big family, has been a flower boy since he could walk, cooed and adored at. Doyoung, on the other hand, has never had such experience; Gongmyung was the first in the Kim family to marry.

“We should just get something from Topshop, or whatever.”

Yuta whirls around, “Topshop! For Gongmyung’s wedding! Hyesung will kill you.”

Doyoung sniffs, “She wouldn’t mind, I’m her favorite brother.”

“Right,” Yuta goes back to the suits as if they were calling out to him, paying no attention to Doyoung, “That’s why she’s marrying Gongmyung.”

The door to the store squeaks open again then, a gust of cold air rushing in, and a bunch of boys walk in. Doyoung’s immediately distracted by their daunting heights, all of them probably half a head taller than Yuta and himself. They all have on matching, expressionless faces, though that might just be thanks to the cold weather the town’s been having over the past couple of days.

“Wouldn’t want to mess with them,” Yuta mumbles under his breath, eyeing their leather jackets and ripped jeans.

Doyoung, on the other hand, was busy staring at the one significantly shorter boy following in their wake, but he was by no means any less intimidating.

His big eyes, his tall, refined nose, his perfect lips. Doyoung’s breath catches, just a tiny bit, when the boy rakes his fingers through his pastel pink hair. Tousled, yet not at all messy. Unlike the others, he has on a thick parka, looking all kinds of squishy with the zip pulled all the way up to his chin. The boy huddles by the heater, kicking the snow off his feet while trying to warm himself up. One of them, with jet black hair and legs longer than the neck of a giraffe, waits by the boy’s side while the others amble into the store, chattering noisily.

“What color did he say he wanted us to get?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s decided.”

“Didn’t he say his brother was going to pick the suit?”

Yuta looks at Doyoung at that, an eyebrow raised in question, “Do you know them?”

Doyoung eyes them from behind a rack, and they’re only a couple of feet away, but he doesn’t recognize them at all, and Taeil isn’t there, so he shakes his head.

“Youngho!” Giraffe Legs looks up at that, and Doyoung tacks the name to his mental clipboard. “Do you remember if there was a color scheme he wanted?”

“Er, no,” Youngho mulls, walking into the store, the smaller boy following suit. “I think we’re discussing it at tonight’s dinner, though.”

Yuta makes a sound of amusement, he whispers, “I’d bet my life savings it’s them.”

“Doubt it,” Doyoung mutters but he doesn’t sound too sure, even to himself.

One of the taller ones are already halfway round the store, he has purple hair, “His brother is going to be there tonight,” Yuta nudges him in the ribs, Doyoung shoves back at him, and they listen with bated breaths, “It’s hard to believe I haven’t met him, even after four years of crashing at his place after projects.”

Doyoung’s never associated with Gongmyung’s college friends, purely based on the fact that he was pretty much a hermit all throughout his undergrad days. He never left his room in their shared apartment, unless it was to leave for class or if Gongmyung ordered in fried chicken.

Now that he thinks about it, Youngho’s voice does sound oddly familiar.

“Neither have I,” Another chimes in, “I don’t think I’ve ever been introduced to him either.”

“What was his name again?”

“Doyoung.” It’s the boy with pink hair, sniffling softly.

The name leaves his lips, and Doyoung thinks his soul has left to the high heavens. It’s odd; the sound of his own name repeating itself again and again in his head, as if he’s never quite heard anyone say his name like that.

“I knew it,” Yuta says with such smug finality that it snaps Doyoung out of his thoughts.

“Let’s get out of here,” Doyoung says quickly, suddenly feeling a lot more nauseous than he already was.

Yuta grabs his wrist before he can bolt, “What! Why?”

Doyoung shushes him, lest they attract attention, “I don’t want to meet them now!”

“What are you on, seriously!” Yuta groans. “We’re going to be meeting them tonight!”

Doyoung tugs his wrist free of Yuta’s grasp, turning on his heel to immediately flee the store, but he comes face-to-face with Boy with Pink Hair, nearly falling over him.

“Whoa,” Boy with Pink Hair says, flinching, hands coming up, lest Doyoung really falls over. For a second, there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes.

Doyoung can’t seem to find it in him to reply, completely taken by his ethereal beauty, even more so from such a close distance. Instead, he apologizes quickly, ducking his head and rushing out of the store.

He only makes it two blocks down the street when Yuta catches up to him. Having been an athlete since grade school, Yuta could easily beat Doyoung in anything with relation to sports.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Yuta pinches Doyoung in the arm, and the latter is too out of breath to react. “They were _all_ staring right at me, waiting for an explanation!”

“What –,” Doyoung huffs, mildly annoyed that Yuta didn’t seem at all winded by the jog, “What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Yuta pinches him again, harder his time. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, yeah, hey, hi everyone, yeah, that was Gongmyung’s younger brother, who looked like he was having a mental breakdown just from meeting the rest of you.’”

Doyoung wheezes, “That would’ve been horrible.”

“ _You’re_ horrible,” Yuta is snarky, “Geez, what is with you and weddings, anyway?”

Doyoung stays mum. He doesn’t know either.

 

x

 

“You ran out of there?” Gongmyung nearly spits his water back into his mug.

“Yeah!” Doyoung groans, resting his head in his hands. “Now, do you see _why_ I can’t go to tonight’s dinner?”

Gongmyung doesn’t miss a beat, “Give it up, you’re never getting out of this.”

“Told you!” Yuta calls out from the couch, sprawled out comfortably with a bowl of popcorn resting on his stomach.

“This is torture,” Doyoung mumbles before he can catch himself.

The silence is stifling, the only sounds is the laughter track from whatever sitcom Yuta has on.

“Is it really that bad to watch me get married to the love of my life?” Gongmyung’s tone is steady, and out of the corner of his eye, Doyoung sees Yuta quietly get up from his spot by the couch, going down the hall and into Doyoung’s room, to give them space.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Doyoung sighs, the feeling of frustration bubbling up in his gut. “Of course, I’m glad to be your best man, I’m your brother.”

“Yeah, well, act like it,” Gongmyung is hardly ever rough with Doyoung. They have a tight relationship, and whatever Doyoung’s thinking… He deems it’s too trivial for it to be brought up. “I want you up there with me when I get married, and I want you to prepare a speech, like all best men do. I want my brother involved with one of the most important – if not, the most important event in my life.”

Doyoung swallows thickly. (Public speaking has never been his forte.)

“What is bothering you, Doyoung?” He uses a stern tone, but his eyes are soft.

“Nothing,” Doyoung lies through his teeth, and Gongmyung sighs, clearly disappointed.

“You’ll tell me if it gets too big to handle, right?”

“I will,” Doyoung promises. “I always do.”

 

x

 

Dinner is even more nerve wrecking after Doyoung’s grand exit at the suit store. After Gongmyung confirmed that the duo _did_ see the other groomsmen earlier that afternoon, an endless string of thought has been running through his mind. It was evident on his expression he learns, when Yuta says,

“If you keep frowning, your brows are going to grow into one giant unibrow.”

“Shut up,” Doyoung hisses, bouncing his legs anxiously. “You’re not helping.”

They’re sitting in a small, dimly lit barbeque joint, with more than fifteen plasma TV screens lining the walls, all of them showing different channels, and TV shows. It doesn’t distract Doyoung (he’s never been into television), so his mind is wandering in all directions. The booth they’re in is cozy, and Doyoung is squished between the wall and Yuta, having decided that sitting in the corner would definitely be less of a challenge for him.

“Here,” Gongmyung is back, three beers in one hand, and two bottles of soju in the other. “This will help with the nerves, yes?”

“Yeah,” Yuta says immediately, reaching for one of the large pints of beer, shoving it into Doyoung’s face. “Drink up, Frowny McSadpants.”

“Thanks,” Doyoung is sarcastic, but he takes the alcohol gratefully. Some liquid courage would be good.

“Taeil can’t seem to find the place,” Gongmyung worries his bottom lip, the light of his phone illuminating his face. “Yuta, can you go get him? I think he’s just down the street… I’m going to get to ordering.”

Yuta takes a big gulp of his drink, “Yeah sure, I haven’t seen Taeil since high school!”

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t aged a day,” Gongmyung reassures him with the wave of a hand.

“Wait,” Doyoung panics, “You can’t leave me,” he says to the both of them, and they share unamused glances, “What if your friends come in when you’re not here?”

Gongmyung is unfazed, “Make small talk.”

“Yuta,” Doyoung tries to sound threatening, but it comes out more like a whimpered plea.

“No can do,” Yuta wiggles a finger at him. “The groom gets what he needs.”

“His wedding isn’t even until December!” He argues, but they leave his sight without turning back.

Doyoung sighs, cuddling the beer mug to his chest, wallowing in his self-pity. He takes another few sips while waiting, hoping that no one arrives while the others are gone. The TV directly opposite him is showing a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy, and Doyoung tries to focus on that, but the sound of the door opening catches his attention.

“Hey, you guys! My brother’s over by that booth over there,” he sees Gongmyung pointing straight at him, and immediately his heartrate climbs. “Sehun, come help order! Do you think we should have chicken too, or just beef?”

Doyoung doesn’t get to hear the answer, because the same bunch of guys from earlier that afternoon are back, standing right in front of him.

“Hey! It’s you!”

Doyoung remembers this one’s name to be Youngho, and he looks less daunting now, with a goofy grin on his face.

“We’re finally meeting Gongmyung’s younger brother,” the one with purple hair says, sticking his hand out at Doyoung, who clumsily _thunks_ his drink onto the table in order to grab the outstretched hand. “I’m Chanyeol, and this is Jongin, and Taemin,” he points to two others on his flanks.

“For a while there, I thought you were a myth, honestly, I’m Youngho.”

“Doyoung,” he says quietly, standing up to formally greet the others. He stutters when he gets to Boy with Pink Hair, smiling at him with a shy smile.

“Taeyong,” Boy with Pink Hair shakes his hand lightly once, twice, then he lets go, but keeps his gaze. “Sorry, about earlier,” his voice has some sort of effect on Doyoung, immediately reducing his legs to jello. “The whole,” he waves his hands in the air, and all Doyoung can think about is how tiny they are, “bumping into you, and everything.”

“No, no!” Doyoung is quick to apologize, “I wasn’t looking at where I was going, sorry.”

It looks like Taeyong’s about to deflect, but Gongmyung’s back now, with another blonde boy Doyoung pins to be Sehun, “Why are you all standing around? Sit down, sit down!”

Doyoung’s heart jumps with Taeyong slides into the seat beside him, claiming Yuta’s spot. Youngho follows then, and the others fill out the spots on the other side of the booth, leaving a spot empty across Doyoung for Yuta.

“His best friend is here as moral support,” Gongmyung explains, and the others hum in response, not too concerned with that.

“Sorry,” Taeyong mumbles, snapping Doyoung out of his daze. He’s pulling his parka off him, arms accidentally bumping into Doyoung, revealing a thin, grey hoodie underneath.

Doyoung tries not to think about how _small_ Taeyong is without the puffy jacket.

“Could you hang this up for me?” Taeyong points at one of the coat hooks on the wall above Doyoung’s seat.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, and he wants to bang his head against the wall.

“Me too, Doyoung,” Youngho singsongs from beside Taeyong, handing him his leather jacket. The rest follow suit, and Doyoung stands by his seat awkwardly, waiting for everyone to pass their jackets along.

“I wish I had a younger brother,” Taemin says from across the table, looking adoringly at Doyoung, “So I can boss him around.”

“Taesun’s really giving you a hard time with his wedding, huh?” Jongin snickers, and Doyoung sits back down after the last jacket is hung.

“Three weddings in a year, and none of them are mine,” Taemin groans, looking at Gongmyung apologetically, “Not that I’m not excited for yours, I mean.”

Gongmyung’s reply is cut off with Yuta’s announcement of his return, Taeil in tow.

“Taeil? I haven’t seen you in… ages?” Youngho stands to pull Taeil into a hug, but Taeil takes a tentative step away. Doyoung gives Gongmyung a look from across the table; he didn’t know Taeil was acquainted with Gongmyung’s friends from college, he assumed Taeil was in the same position as he was.

“Later,” Gongmyung mouths, and Doyoung returns with a curt nod.

“Yeah,” Taeil looks and sounds exactly like he did in high school, though there’s a bit of a hesitation in his eyes that Doyoung doesn’t know what to attribute to. He’s just as small as Doyoung remembers, almost as small as Taeyong beside him. He scurries to take the seat across Taeyong, while Yuta takes the one across Doyoung.

Doyoung automatically hands Yuta his beer, and his eyes dart to Taeyong in question, a smirk on his lips, wiggling his brows suggestively. Doyoung glares at him, ending their silent conversation.

“I get that things are awkward,” Gongmyung raises a hand to stop the others from objecting, “So let’s all drink tonight, get everything out of the way?”

“Chanyeol’s a loud drunk, though,” Jongin whines, sounding like he’s experienced in dealing with drunk Chanyeol.

“You’re a boring drunk,” Chanyeol retaliates, arm already in the air to wave a waitress over.

“I slept one time!” Jongin argues.

“And like, four times after that,” Sehun snorts, and the table laughs.

Doyoung and Yuta share another silent conversation:

_Did you think they’d be this… goofy?  
_

_Not at all._

“I’m not a good drinker,” Taeil pipes up, just as the waitress comes around with a ‘What can I get you guys?’

“What are you talking about!” Youngho is jovial, “You hold your alcohol really well!”

There’s a bout of silence at the table, and Yuta sends a look of confusion to Doyoung, who shrugs in response. Were they missing something important?

Taeyong shifts uncomfortably beside Doyoung, and his eyes drop to meet the other’s gaze. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat, “I don’t drink either.”

“Just a tiny bit!” Jongin encourages, personality doing a complete one eighty when the waitress hands them the alcohol list.

They order two towers of beer, and six more bottles of soju.

The conversation flows easily as the food start to arrive, and the smell of grilled meat fills the air around them.

“I’m so hungry,” Taeyongs says aloud, to no one in particular, but everyone on the other end of the table is discussing sports, so Doyoung takes the chance to start a conversation,

“Me too,” is all he manages when Taeyong turns to face him, completely taken aback by their close proximity, his piercing gaze overwhelming.

“Youngho and I had some hot dogs after the suit store,” Taeyong presses a hand to his stomach, “It feels like eons ago.”

“I’m sure the – oh, my god.”

The beer towers look even larger than in the pictures, standing at probably four feet tall, holding sixty ounces of Bud Light. The waiter heaves it onto the table, and another is placed at Doyoung and Yuta’s end of the table. The six soju bottles are scattered amongst them, but none are left unopened, with Chanyeol’s busy hands filling up everyone’s tiny cups.

Dinner goes on without a hitch. With the exception of Taeyong and Taeil, they’re all tipsy enough to let loose, but not enough (yet) to be screaming the lyrics to the latest Girls’ Generation single. Taeyong is quiet beside Doyoung, only exchanging low whispers with Youngho throughout. Yuta has taken to speaking to both Taeil and Doyoung about his recent adventures to one of State's poorly run bowling alleys, and Doyoung’s glad (and a little disappointed) he doesn’t _have_ to make small talk with Taeyong.

When the fire’s all gone, and the grilled meat are all off the metal trays, Chanyeol proposes they all bring up any issues they have with the wedding, so that everyone’s on the same page. Sehun argues that they’ve all only just met, but his objection is nullified when Chanyeol shoves a head of lettuce into his mouth.

“I’m so happy for you,” Taemin goes first. He hiccups, clinking his soju glass with Jongin’s beer mug, and he throws back the shot, while Jongin polishes the last bit of his beer. “But I really hate that I have to buy three suits. I can’t believe it.”

“Rent them,” Chanyeol dismisses him, “Next problem.”

“I need a date to the wedding,” Jongin whines.

“What about Kyungsoo?” Sehun’s cheeks are rosy, but he doesn’t look at all tipsy.

“We had a fight yesterday,” say Jongin solemnly.

“You know the wedding’s, like, at the end of the year right,” Chanyeol deadpans, filling Gongmyung’s empty glass. “It’s January. Next problem.”

Jongin looks dejected, and Doyoung brings his beer to his lips when Chanyeol looks pointedly at him.

“Brother of the groom,” he says with confidence, “You must have some worries, no?”

Yuta kicks him under the table, and Doyoung keeps his face neutral, “Not really, no, I don’t.”

“Come off it,” Sehun picks at a burnt piece of fat on the grill. “Taemin’s gotten into two fights with his brother after the engagement party.”

“That was a week ago,” Jongin chimes in, refilling Taemin’s empty soju glass, and pouring himself a new one.

“Nope,” Doyoung winces internally when Yuta kicks him again under the table. He stomps on Yuta’s foot heavily, and the other yelps.

“You hold your alcohol really well,” Taeyong says suddenly, an impressed look etched on his face.

“What?”

Taeyong jerks his chin at the mug in Doyoung’s hand, “You’ve had five glasses _and_ soju.”

“ _You’ve_ been counting?” Yuta says from across the table, and Doyoung swings his foot to kick him in the knee, hard enough to force Yuta to push back in his chair, groaning in pain.

Taeyong doesn’t answer Yuta’s question, simply choosing to look away.

“He’s a good drinker,” Gongmyung interjects. “Teach everyone that soju bomb trick you and Yuta like to mess around with.”

Yuta guffaws, and everyone on the table looks on curiously, “We got chased out of a Japanese restaurant for doing that with sake.”

“What is it?” Taeyong speaks up, intrigued, leaning close to the table, a look of pure innocence on his face.

Doyoung’s heart thumps loudly in his ribcage. It’s the alcohol, he assures himself.

“Pour me a shot,” Yuta tells Doyoung, filling up his own mug of beer, until it’s three-quarters full. Doyoung dutifully hands him a full shot glass, leaning an arm against the table. He can’t help but grin when Yuta sets the play: he balances the shot glass atop a pair of chopsticks, lining them up to the edges of the beer mug.

“This is the fun part,” Yuta says with a devilish smile, and Doyoung swears Taeyong leans even closer.

Without warning, Yuta slams the table loudly with both hands, on either side of the setup, hard enough to rattle the pair of chopsticks holding the shot glass up, and it falls messily into the beer mug, creating a layer of foam and bubbles as it drops.

Taeyong jumps nearly a foot into the air when Yuta’s hands come into contact with the table, hands coming up to grip Doyoung’s hand on the table. He doesn’t seem bothered by the contact, because he’s clapping his hands the next second, nudging Youngho to give it a try.

Doyoung feels like his hand’s been scalded by hot water.

Soon the entire table is lining up with soju bombs, everyone thwacking the tables with great fervor, causing a ruckus. Taemin and Jongin rush to chug the beer-soju mix, and Sehun warns them with a, “You guys are going to regret that when you get home.”

“I want to try a glass!” Taeyong reaches for his empty shot glass, that’s remained dry since it’s touched the table.

“Ah!” Chanyeol wags a finger at him boyishly, “You’ve to drink the entire thing if you do!”

“What, why!” Taeyong frowns, holding the tiny cup with both hands, looking a lot like a raccoon that’s been caught stealing food, and Doyoung thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s seen the entire year. (It’s the alcohol, he swears.)

“Game rules,” Chanyeol shrugs, looking at Yuta, “Right?”

“Right,” Yuta says with finality. Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“You’re just making that up!”

“Call in a Black Knight to drink it for you, then!”

Taeyong turns to his right, “Youngho will do it!”

The table turns eerily quiet, like a thick layer of fog has descended amongst them, and everyone sobers for a half a second. Taeyong bites on his lower lip, looking extremely apologetic the moment he uttered those words,

“I’m – ”

“Doyoung will drink it!” Gongmyung hurriedly rushes to defuse the situation. What the situation was, Doyoung had no clue. (And neither did Yuta, from the confused looks he was bombarding Doyoung with.)

Taeyong’s thin fingers are around Doyoung’s wrists, and it feels like he shoved his hand further down a large vat of boiling water, “I’ll call you in as my Black Knight!”

The term itself has no romantic connotations, just a favored ask, but the way it rolls off the tip of Taeyong’s tongue… It has Doyoung’s legs turn cold, “Okay.”

“You owe him a wish, then, Taeyong!” Chanyeol hums, enjoying this far more than anyone at the table.

“If you chug it,” the glint in Sehun’s eyes match Chanyeol’s mischievous ones, “You get _two_ wishes.”

“Now you’re really just making crap up,” Taeyong deadpans, but he’s already moving to fill his beer mug. “You don’t have to chug it, don’t listen to them.”

“Passing up a chance to get two wishes from our resident cutie,” Chanyeol’s tone is teasing, and he recognizes it to resemble the tone Gongmyung uses when he pinches Doyoung’s cheeks. “Think twice?”

“I’m not cute,” Taeyong reaches over to flick Chanyeol squarely on the forehead. “Like this?” he asks, adjusting the soju glass atop the chopsticks, looking at Doyoung for confirmation.

It’s a look so virtuous that Doyoung vows to chug it. He doesn’t have any wishes that need to be granted, and he doesn’t know if Taeyong will follow through (after all, it’s all just talk and tease), but he’d be damned if he didn’t clinch the chances to have two under his belt.

Taeyong smacks the table, albeit a little too lightly, and it takes an extra second or two for the soju glass to teeter off the chopsticks, and into the glass. He claps for himself, and the others indulge, giving him a soft cheer.

Doyoung wonders if Taeyong was the youngest out of the bunch of them, or if he was just naturally this… adorable.

“Chug it!” Chanyeol chants, and Sehun joins in. Gongmyung shakes his head, but Doyoung plucks the concoction from Taeyong’s hands, tipping it expertly towards his lips, and he downs it easily.

“You’re going to regret that later,” Yuta parrots, and there’s no sympathy in his voice.

“Don’t you dare throw up in the apartment,” Gongmyung warns.

“I’m not going to – ” He hiccups loudly, the soju burning his throat, beer fizzing in his stomach, “Throw up.”

Taeyong’s hands are on his arms now, and Doyoung _really_ wishes he’d stop doing that. His body is already burning from the amount of alcohol he’s had. Taeyong’s touch makes it feel like his skin is being peeled off with a carrot peeler.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asks, looking straight into Doyoung’s glazed eyes with his own unwavering ones.

“What’s your wish, Doyoung?” There’s a suggestive undertone to Taemin’s question.

Doyoung blanks, “Nothing.”

“What, no!” Taeyong tightens his grip, and Doyoung has to painfully swallow a wave of nausea. From the alcohol. “I owe you two wishes!”

When Doyoung doesn’t reply, Jongin’s eyes light up, “You’re _saving_ them, aren’t you!”

“No, I’m not,” Doyoung is defiant.

“You totally are!” Yuta accuses, and Doyoung wants to ask him who’s team he’s on.

“I’m not!”

“Are you?” It’s Taeyong.

“I’m really not.”

(He is.)

 

And Doyoung doesn’t remember the rest.

x

 

“Doyoung! Wake! Up!”

In retrospect, he probably should not have drunk half that beer tower himself (Yuta drank the other half). He should also get some new friends.

“Why,” Doyoung groans, shoving his face into his pillow, his head pounding, “are you still here.”

It doesn’t come out like a question, and Yuta doesn’t answer,

“Gongmyung wants to go for brunch.”

Doyoung thinks he’s dreaming, “I really hate you.”

Yuta plops on the foot of Doyoung’s bed, “I could really use some poached eggs right now.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Maybe some back bacon?”

Doyoung kicks at the lump of Yuta, “I’m hungover, get out.”

“Some sautéed mushrooms? Mm.”

There’s no winning Yuta, Doyoung succumbs, “Okay, we’ll go, just get out, let me wake up.”

“I might skip the baked beans, though.”

“Get the fuck out!” Doyoung grunts, kicking Yuta harder this time, hard enough to shove him off the bed.

Yuta harrumphs. Doyoung glares at him as he rubs at his back, “If you’re not out in ten minutes, I’m coming back in with Gongmyung’s loudhailer from his student council president days, so don’t try me.”

 

The room is quiet again just for a second, and Doyoung contemplates going back to sleep, but realizes that Yuta probably wasn’t kidding about the loudhailer. He groans again, stretching out his stiff limbs, whining when his headache doesn’t seem like it’s going to subside.

He runs his hands against his bedsheets blindly, trying to see if Drunk Doyoung was smart enough to plug his phone in last night. Catching a feel of his charging cord, he feels a little triumphant.

The screen of his phone light up, and he has to blink the blurriness away. The message app icon has the number (7) next to it, and Doyoung unlocks it, curious,

 

24JAN [02:31] **taeyong** : hello doyoung  
24JAN [02:31] **taeyong** : you’ll probably read this in the morning but i keyed my number into your phone last night  
24JAN [02:32] **taeyong** : after you, er, passed out…  
24JAN [02:32] **taeyong** : this is taeyong  
24JAN [02:36] **taeyong** : thanks for being my black knight last night  
24JAN [02:37] **taeyong** : i owe you two wishes, and i’m a man of my word so  
24JAN [02:37] **taeyong** : let me know!

 

Doyoung reads it over again, and again, not quite believing that he’s actually gotten Taeyong’s number in his phone. Sure, he wasn’t going to deny that he was obviously enamored by Taeyong’s antics, but after the silent dinner, he didn’t dare hope for more.

It takes him a minute to fully wake up, and type out a reply. Taeyong’s response follows quick, and Doyoung thinks it’s easier to text Taeyong than speak to him in person. (Maybe it’s the fact that Doyoung’s not completely intimidated by Taeyong’s sheer existence.)

 

24JAN [11:02] **doyoung** : hi uh sorry i just woke up  
24JAN [11:02] **doyoung** : about the black knight thing… don’t worry about it  
24JAN [11:03] **taeyong** : what! no! you chugged an entire mug of beer on my behalf  
24JAN [11:03] **taeyong** : and i feel bad enough for needing a black knight so  
24JAN [11:03] **doyoung** : it was really nothing though  
24JAN [11:03] **taeyong** : tell me two wishes!  
24JAN [11:04] **taeyong** : … are you usually this stubborn???  
24JAN [11:04] **doyoung** : okay, i wish i didn’t have two wishes

24JAN [11:06] **taeyong** : that’s stupid  
24JAN [11:06] **taeyong** : something legit!  
24JAN [11:07] **doyoung** : there’s nothing though…  
24JAN [11:08] **doyoung** : oh wait okay i wished my hangover would magically disappear  
24JAN [11:08] **taeyong** : … i can’t help you there  
24JAN [11:10] **taeyong** : if i buy you a cup of coffee, would that help?

 

Doyoung thinks his ears are ringing, he can’t believe what he’s reading.

As he’s about to clutch his phone to his chest and let out the girliest of giggles, Yuta slams the door open to his bedroom, loud hailer in his hands,

“I WARNED YOU, KIM DOYOUNG.”

 

x

 

In favor of having brunch (the best meal of the day, as Yuta self-proclaimed) with his brother and best friend, he takes a raincheck on coffee with Taeyong.

“Well, that was a dumb decision,” Yuta snorts, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“You should go for it,” Gongmyung muses, “Taeyong’s a really nice guy, and you haven’t dated since… What was that guy’s name?”

Doyoung doesn’t want to hear it, “Sicheng.”

“Ugh,” Yuta scoffs. He didn’t dislike Sicheng (they’d actually gotten along pretty well), but by being Doyoung’s best friend, he just had to dislike Sicheng by association. It was an amicable break-up, nothing terribly heartbreaking, but it did break up their high school friend group. Sicheng got Kun and Ten; Doyoung got Yuta.

“Er, no,” Doyoung shakes his head, picking at the baked beans on his plate. “I’m not really looking to date right now.”

Yuta and Gongmyung exchange loaded looks that Doyoung can’t decipher.

“I don’t know how much you drank last night, but you _do_ know who Taeyong is right?”

Doyoung shrugs, “I do. He owes me two wishes.”

“Truly the perfect setting,” Yuta tuts, looking forlornly into the distance. “If he wasn’t so interested you, I’d be hitting on him by now.”

Doyoung startles at that, “I just met him last night, what are you talking about?”

“Ah, yes, the older of the Kim Brothers,” Yuta says royally, waving his fork in Gongmyung’s face, “Would you care to explain?”

Gongmyung sighs, and Doyoung looks at him to go on, “The last time Taeyong came over, you were sleeping on the couch, and he’s been asking about you ever since. I only held him off because he was nervous to meet you.”

“That’s fresh,” Yuta is snide. It’s harsh, but not untrue. Doyoung’s never really had experience in the dating game, (apart from Sicheng). He’s never really gone out of his way to find someone, but he’s never really had anyone come after him either.

Especially not someone of Taeyong’s caliber. It feels a little too good to be true, if Doyoung’s being honest.

“He saw our childhood pictures and wouldn’t stop gushing about how cute you were,” Gongmyung rolls his eyes, and Doyoung is reminded of the rows of baby pictures displayed on their television console. “Something about your teeth looking like a baby bunny’s.”

Yuta snorts, “More like a rabid rabbit’s.”

Doyoung runs a tongue over his two front teeth.

“And apparently heard you singing,” Gongmyung looks unimpressed. “When you were in the shower, I think.”

“He likes Doyoung for his awful rendition of _Because of You?_ ” Yuta hacks, “Take him, Doyoung.”

He looks at Yuta, “And how do you know of all this?”

“I was promptly updated on this this morning,” Yuta sniffs, “Also, on the whole Taeil thing with that guy from yesterday.”

“Youngho,” Gongmyung says.

Doyoung’s temporarily distracted by this, “Yeah, wait, what was that all about?”

Gongmyung sighs, taking a sip from his orange juice, “They dated in freshmen year, and it ended when Youngho made new friends, and I think they grew apart.” He continues, “It was short-lived, but Taeil took it pretty hard,” Gongmyung frowns, “I think he was Taeil’s first.”

“Brutal of you to have them both on your groom’s party.”

Gongmyung groans, “I asked Taeil if he would be okay with it, and he said it would be fine… I didn’t think Youngho would act like nothing happened.”

“How long were they together?”

He shrugs, “A little over a year? I still remember it like it was yesterday,” Gongmyung closes his eyes, “He was pretty much everything to Taeil, everything revolved around Youngho… I don’t know if Youngho ever felt the same way, he probably did, but it just didn’t work out, I guess.”

Doyoung feels a snap in his heart, like it hits close to home. “Well, nothing ever lasts forever, right?”

It comes out too cold and far too bitter, even to his own ears. Yuta and Gongmyung stare at him with matching, alarmed looks.

Yuta clears his throat, recovering first, “What are you going to do about Taeyong?”

Gongmyung is still staring at him, steely and intrusive, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. Doyoung looks away, “Nothing. He’s just a friend of yours,” he gestures at Gongmyung. “If he wants to have coffee, sure, but I’m not looking to date.”

Yuta leans back in his seat, laughing, “Who would’ve thought that Kim Doyoung would one day reject such a catch?”

Gongmyung doesn’t let his gaze weaken, and Doyoung avoids it for the rest of brunch.

 

x

 

Not at all intentional, Doyoung forgets to reply to Taeyong’s text.

He’s only reminded of it when Gongmyung brings it up midway through May, just when the weather’s turning hot.

 

“Doyoung, I need you to meet Taeyong tomorrow.”

The phone in his hand nearly falls to the ground, “I can’t.”

Gongmyung glares at him from the kitchen counter, “You _have_ to. Hyesung and I are going to look at flower arrangements tomorrow, and we forgot we scheduled the cake tasting at the hotel too. The baker is a friend of Taeyong’s.”

“Get Yuta to go,” he says quickly, sitting up from his spot on the couch. The laptop on his stomach nearly slides off, and he catches it before it hits the ground, placing it gently on the coffee table. He opens up the messaging app on his phone, and lo and behold, Taeyong’s suggestion to grab coffee is still there, staring back at him, opened and not yet responded to. “I left him hanging from that time he wanted to get coffee, I can’t meet him.”

“You did?” Gongmyung laughs humorlessly. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Doyoung pauses, “Really?”

Gongmyung clicks his tongue, “No. He’s going to mind, I told you, didn’t I? He was pretty into you.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” Doyoung argues.

“What Taeyong thinks of my little brother,” he looks at Doyoung pointedly, “in his free time, is none of my business. It’s Grand Hotel on 31st Street, be there at six in the evening. It’s the only time the baker is free.”

“Can I bring Yuta?” Doyoung is hopefully, but the deadpan look Gongmyung sends him crushes it.

“No, he’s allergic to nuts.”

“We’ll be extra careful.”

“No.”

 

x

 

15MAY [17:43] **doyoung** : hello, it’s doyoung  
15MAY [17:43] **doyoung** : i’m standing on the left of the entrance of the hotel  
15MAY [17:52] **doyoung** : the cake tasting is at 6pm, right?

 

It’s even more awkward than Doyoung thought it’d be, standing outside of the hotel in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. His phone feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in his hands, eyes concentrated on his screen, wishing for a reply to come quick.

“Hey.”

Taeyong’s voice is low and quiet, but it startles Doyoung anyway. He takes a second to take Taeyong’s appearance in: a simple white tee tucked into a pair of dark skinnies that greatly emphasizes his slim waist, and toned legs. His hair is a lighter blonde now, the pink pretty much faded away, and Doyoung thinks Taeyong suits both those hair colors perfectly. It flops over his forehead, looking like it’s just been washed and air-dried.

Very domestic.

Doyoung tries to keep it together.

“Hey,” he says, fingers tingling.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Taeyong clears his throat, looking away. He’s a little different today, Doyoung finds, a little more guarded, more grounded, than he was when they’d met that winter night in January. The setting sun casts a warm glow over his features, and Doyoung has a sudden image of walking down the beach with Taeyong.

“It’s fine,” Doyoung shakes his head, “I didn’t wait long.”

“Let’s go then,” Taeyong shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, climbing up the steps to the hotel, letting Doyoung trail after him like a kicked puppy.

Taeyong’s friend, Doyoung learns with very short, equipped sentences, is the hotel’s newest pastry chef. They’re immediately seated in one of the secluded corners of the hotel’s main restaurant, and a waitress informs them that the cake samples will be out soon.

Sans the faint clinking of metal against ceramics, the restaurant is quiet for Friday evening. Doyoung looks around the hotel, absentmindedly admiring the paintings on the walls and the beams on the ceilings. He watches Taeyong out of the corner of his eye, fidgeting with one of the metal forks on the table.

He stands his ground. With his current projects at work keeping him busy, and helping out with Gongmyung’s day-to-day freak-outs over the wedding (in seven months), Doyoung is running on fumes. He’s not looking to date anyone, and as close as Taeyong is to perfect, he doesn’t want to make any promises he can’t keep.

Doyoung feels a twinge of guilt gurgling in his stomach, and he plucks the courage to speak first, “How’ve you been?”

Taeyong’s hand freezes, as if he was expecting them to last the entire day without exchanging words, “Fine. And you?”

It’s curt and polite, but Doyoung can’t really blame him, “I’m okay.”

Silence unfolds.

“Actually, listen – ”

Doyoung’s attempt at an apology is cut off by a chef’s arrival, complete with a white coat and chef’s hat.

“Taeyong!”

The chef has dimples deeper than the oceans, and a smile brighter than the sun. His brown hair peeks out from under his hat, and Doyoung reads his nametag when he envelopes Taeyong with a big hug: Jung Jaehyun.

“It’s been a while, Jaehyun,” Taeyong smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s the first time Doyoung’s seen him smile today, so he takes it. “This is Doyoung,” the way he says it still runs a shiver down Doyoung’s spine, “brother of the groom.”

“Nice to meet you!” Jaehyun grins at him, shaking Doyoung’s hand with both of his. “When Taeyong told me you were cute, I didn’t know what to expect.”

Doyoung flushes instantly, and Taeyong’s hand flies up to tug on Jaehyun’s ear, “Don’t spout rubbish!”

“Ah, ah!” Jaehyun cries out, rubbing his ear pitifully when Taeyong lets go. “I have more to tell!”

“I’d like to see you try,” Taeyong hisses, eyes stern. Doyoung had noticed Taeyong’s large irises the moment the bumped paths on the suit store, but he’s never thought they could convey such ferocity.

“Anyway!” Jaehyun clasps his hands together, visibly shaken by Taeyong’s quiet threat, choosing to focus on Doyoung now instead. “I’ve five different cakes here, all of which have already approved by both the bride and groom,” he looks at Taeyong for confirmation, and he nods. (There’s a hint of blush on his cheeks, but Doyoung thinks it’s just the heat.)

They take their seats, with Taeyong on Doyoung’s left, and Jaehyun across from them both. A waiter appears with a tray of five slices of cake, all of which are topped with different frostings. Two glasses of iced water are brandished, and Doyoung takes a sip in efforts to soothe his dry throat. (It’s the weather.)

“We have,” Jaehyun points at the cakes as he lists the flavors, “red velvet, triple chocolate, white chocolate with raspberry, coconut and lime, and carrot.”

Doyoung’s nose wrinkles at that. He didn’t fancy carrot cakes.

“Really?” Taeyong is genuinely surprised, for the first time that day, looking straight at Doyoung.

He feels his cheeks burning under his stare, “I don’t really like carrots.”

A short burst of laughter escapes Taeyong’s lips, and he brings a hand up to muffle it. Doyoung wishes he wouldn’t do that. Taeyong has an alluring laugh, and the way his eyes scrunches when he does is charming.

“What?” Doyoung blinks.

“Nothing,” Taeyong murmurs, but he’s still tickled. “You just,” he pauses, ears a bright red, “look so much like a bunny.”

Doyoung has to grip his thigh, heart threatening to crawl out of his throat, “Do I?”

Taeyong worries his bottom lip, hesitantly looking up and back at Doyoung, “A little.”

“I don’t know if looking like a woodland creature is a compliment,” Jaehyun interrupts, “But I’m needed back in the kitchen for dinner rush,” he stands to take his leave, “Any of the waiters here will be able to take your final decision, so,” Jaehyun turns to Taeyong, “I’ll see you soon?”

Taeyong coughs dryly, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll text you, thank you, Jaehyun,” he stands too to give him a one-armed hug, and Jaehyun’s off, waving to Doyoung just as he turns the corner.

Doyoung eyes Taeyong carefully when he sits back down, and Taeyong doesn’t look away.

There’s a sticky tension in the air, like there’s too much electricity between, too much _something_.

“Should we, uh,” Taeyong picks up a fork gingerly, “start with the red velvet?”

Doyoung does the same, “Okay.”

He places the red velvet cake in front of the two of them, and Taeyong nods in thanks. They take a small bit of the slice each, sharing blanks looks before taking a bite.

There’s nothing to it, just the two of them eating a slice of cake, but the eye contact and the way Taeyong’s tongue darts out before the cake slips past his lips… It’s enough for Doyoung’s cheeks to burn, so he turns away before Taeyong can catch him.

“I like it,” Doyoung says, reaching to cut himself another bite-sized piece.

Taeyong hums, smacking his lips lightly, and Doyoung’s eyes are trained to his glossy lips, “It’s a little too sweet for me.”

Doyoung nods, but he eats another bite anyway. He chews slowly, savoring the sweet taste of the cake, and the creamy frosting. Taeyong takes a sip of water, and he does the same.

“Chocolate?” Doyoung asks, hand hovering over the plates, “Or coconut?”

“Chocolate,” Taeyong is resolute, and Doyoung picks the triple chocolate cake. It’s rich and creamy, and Taeyong seems to like it more than the red velvet. “I think Hyesung would like this more.”

Doyoung reaches for another bite. He feels like a child compared to Taeyong, who was only filling himself with one mouthful of each cake, “I think so too… Do you know Hyesung? Personally?”

Taeyong leaves the glass of water at his lips, and it’s distracting to Doyoung, but he does his best to commit this image to memory, “Yeah, she was in my business analytics course.”

“Did you go to State too?” The questions just seem to tumble out of Doyoung like a waterfall. He doesn’t want to show interest, he’s not ready, but all Taeyong has to do is _look_ at him for his resolution to waver.

He nods, “Double majored business and economics,” Taeyong puts his glass down, “I heard from Gongmyung that you just graduated?”

Doyoung wonders what else Gongmyung’s told him, “Yeah, I majored in architecture.” He reaches to get another bite by Taeyong stops him.

“You should save your stomach for the other cakes,” he says, and Doyoung resists the urge to pout, solemnly returning the triple chocolate cake onto the tray, reaching for the white chocolate raspberry one instead.

 

The others don’t quiet par up to the triple chocolate cake, and they make a decision to have a slice to-go, so that Gongmyung and Hyesung could have a taste for it before making the final decision.

It’s dark out now, and Doyoung thinks the hour has flown by much too quickly.

Taeyong answered a lot of his other questions (‘What do you do now?’, ‘How did you meet Gongmyung?’) and he’s answered many of Taeyong’s questions (‘Why don’t you like carrot cake?’, ‘Okay, why don’t you like carrots in general?’). He seemed to relax after the white chocolate raspberry cake, after Doyoung showed him a video of a bunny eating a raspberry. Taeyong commented that Doyoung looked _exactly_ like the grey rabbit in the video, and Doyoung was quick to deny. The conversation was smooth, and easy to fall into. Doyoung likes how comfortable it is to speak with Taeyong, how it seems like they’ve known each other for more than just a dinner and a cake tasting session.

His apology for forgetting to reply to Taeyong’s coffee meet-up (not date, Doyoung is sure) is, ironically, forgotten, but Taeyong doesn’t bring it up either.

“Are you heading to the subway?” Taeyong asks when they leave the hotel, looking up and down the street.

“Yeah, but I’ve to grab some dinner for Gongmyung before I do,” Doyoung says simply, not really catching the underlying invitation in his own words. He has no intentions of having dinner with Taeyong. (He tells himself.)

Taeyong catches it in a snap, “I’ve to get dinner too. Let’s go together?”

Doyoung stalls. He doesn’t want to leave Taeyong just yet either, “Okay.”

The smile Taeyong sends him is blinding.

 

They settle at a Thai place, and Doyoung asks for the takeout menu the moment they step through the doors. It’s a little quick, but Taeyong doesn’t seem to be bothered by that.

Doyoung orders for both him and Taeyong, and when he tells the older boy that he’s already paid, he’s greeted with a frown,

“What, why?” Taeyong still has his wallet in his hands, a clean and well-kept, unlike Doyoung’s old, tattered one. “I can pay for myself.”

“It’s okay,” Doyoung’s hand comes up to Taeyong’s elbow, to lightly guide him aside to let other customers come in. Taeyong eyes his hand, and he drops it like he’s been burnt, “It’s a thank you for helping out with the cake-tasting.”

Taeyong narrows his eyes at Doyoung, like he’s trying to read him, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Taeyong sighs, “Well, then, thanks.”

 

x

 

“Why didn’t you invite him over!”

Gongmyung smacks Doyoung on the head with a pair of disposable chopsticks, and he flinches.

“Okay, ow?” Doyoung glares at his brother, hands hovering over the takeout containers. “Did you want him to come over?”

Gongmyung stares at him incredulously, “You’re impossible.”

“What did I do!” Doyoung’s eyebrows shoot up, and he peels open the cover of one of the containers. “I went to the cake-tasting, and I came back!”

“You _just_ said you had a good time at the cake-tasting,” Gongmyung takes the seat across Doyoung at their dining table. “And then you _paid_ for dinner? The next logical step would be to have him come over!”

As much as he was annoyed, Doyoung was going to miss having dinner with Gongmyung every night. Gongmyung was going to move out to a new place with Hyesung right after the return from their honeymoon. Yuta would be moving in then, the lease to his apartment coincidentally ending within the same month.

It makes him sad, and he knows that he’ll always be able to have dinner with Gongmyung whenever he wanted, but it’s not the same. He’s spent the last twenty-odd years living with Gongmyung, and in seven months, everything will be different.

It’s a can of worms Doyoung refuses to open.

Doyoung’s phone buzzes in his back pocket then, “I told you I don’t want to date him or anything, we just had a good time.”

Gongmyung groans, but he warns, “You better not be stringing him along then, he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Do you really think I could be capable of that?” Doyoung snorts. His phone buzzes twice more, and he succumbs to checking it,

 

15MAY [21:34] **taeyong** : thanks for dinner  
15MAY [21:35] **taeyong** : and for today  
15MAY [21:35] **taeyong** : [smiley emoji]

 

“Who’s that?” Gongmyung asks, trying to peer across the two containers of pad thai.

Doyoung tilts the phone away, “Yuta.”

Gongmyung doesn’t buy it, “What does he want?”

Doyoung lies, “He wants to meet tomorrow.”

Gongmyung hums, not really believing him, but he doesn’t probe any further.

 

15MAY [21:37] **doyoung** : don’t worry about it, it was nothing  
15MAY [21:38] **doyoung** : thanks for today too  
15MAY [21:38] **doyoung** : [smiley emoji]

 

x

 

21JUN [23:32] **taeyong** : [video]  
21JUN [23:32] **taeyong** : this is you!!!!!!!!!

 

It’s another video of another rabbit eating another kind of fruit, but Doyoung still smiles anyway.

“Who’s that?” Yuta looks over his shoulder, and Doyoung doesn’t click away from the video.

“Just a video,” he waves Yuta away, and, by a stroke of god’s lucks, Yuta settles back onto his end of the couch, refocusing his attention back to the sitcom on TV.

 

21JUN [23:35] **doyoung** : you think every rabbit looks like me  
21JUN [23:35] **doyoung** : am i just every rabbit in the world  
21JUN [23:36] **doyoung** : did you just get home?  
21JUN [23:36] **taeyong** : noooo  
21JUN [23:37] **taeyong** : you’re only all the cute rabbits  
21JUN [23:37] **taeyong** : yeah i just got home

 

Doyoung has to put his phone down and hug the pillow higher to his chest. He can’t _stop_ smiling, and he’d be damned if Yuta caught him texting Taeyong.

He knows, he _knows_ , it’s a bad idea. He tells himself it’s just friends texting about daily, dumb things, but Yuta has never sent him a morning text that made his heart rage in him.

They text from dawn to dusk, and if Doyoung’s lucky, Taeyong calls him just before he goes to bed, and they talk until one of them falls asleep and the line goes dead. About what, Doyoung can’t keep track – about Taeyong’s little cousin Minhyung, who he loves and dotes on, about how he can’t believe the grocery mart near his apartment is having half off on all detergents and laundry softeners, about how he’s swamped with clients deals and proposals at the company he’s working at, about how there’s this one project that’s worrying him.

It’s a bad idea, he knows, but he’s not playing around with Taeyong, that much, Doyoung knows. He’s just… seeing how things are going to work out.

He groans into the pillow, _I am a terrible person_.

“What?” Yuta calls out nonchalantly, bag of chips in his arms, “Taeyong finally creating a dent in your ironclad wall?”

Doyoung splutters, “He did not!”

Yuta’s eyes don’t leave the screen, “So, it _is_ him.”

Doyoung thinks he should have let Sicheng have Yuta when they broke up, “Don’t you have your own couch to be on? Your own food to snack on?”

“I do,” Yuta sniffs, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth just to spite Doyoung, “I’m here because Gongmyung isn’t, and I know you get lonely.”

Gongmyung, as always, spends Wednesday nights over at Hyesung’s. He didn’t deny that it does get lonely.

Something catches in his throat, “What do you mean?”

Yuta sighs, reaching to pause Ted Mosby midway through a rant about never getting married, “I know what’s bothering you.”

“What?” Doyoung asks, but he really doesn’t want to know.

“You’re sad Gongmyung’s leaving, and that things are changing,” Yuta takes an apathetic tone, but his bright eyes are full of worry. It feels like a knife is shoved into his gut. “It’s really not that hard to crack.”

Doyoung is defiant, “I’m not sad he’s leaving.”

“Sure,” Yuta shoots him a look, “Well if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,” he sighs, getting up to leave, and Doyoung feels the knife in his gut twist. Yuta’s a good friend, and it’s probably good for him to talk about it, but he just doesn’t want to. Not yet, anyway. “It’s time for me to get home to my own couch, and eat my own snacks.”

For a second, Yuta looks disappointed, as if he’d expected Doyoung to come clean about everything, but he grins when he locks eyes with Doyoung, “I’m just kidding, god, don’t look like I just killed a rabbit in front of you.”

Doyoung blinks twice, and he feels his phone buzz, but he doesn’t look away, “Yuta, I – ”

“Look,” Yuta cuts him off. “When my older sister got married, the house wasn’t the same for the next three months without her and her screaming and nail polish all over the dining table,” Yuta rolls his eyes, but his tone is soft. “And my younger sister’s always complaining about how everything’s changed since I left for college,” he shrugs, “I know how it is with change, but you get used to it. I still see them every now and then, and we still love each other very much. There’s nothing wrong with change.”

“Gongmyung is going to get married, and he’s going to start a new life with Hyesung,” Yuta goes on, not at all bothered by the look of pure panic on Doyoung’s face. “But he’ll always be _your_ brother, and until the time all of us are off the face of this earth, you will never lose that, okay? So, make with what you have now, I’m sure he’s just as sad as you are.”

It hits the bulls’ eye, and Doyoung wants Yuta to leave right now. He wants to have a good cry, and think over what’s now on the table, for the both of them to think about.

“And now you want me to leave,” Yuta huffs, knowing exactly what’s on Doyoung’s mind. “And I will,” he grabs the bag of chips to take with him, “But in another couple more months, I’m your new roommate, buddy.”

Doyoung smiles at that, but it comes out like a grimace. He croaks, “Thanks, Yuta.”

Other than the time when he pressured Doyoung to doing twenty-one shots on his twenty-first birthday, Yuta is undeniably, a good friend that Doyoung’s grateful to have.

“And whatever it is you have with Taeyong,” Yuta is already heading towards the door. “It seems like it’s not going to be something you can just sweep under the rug, so don’t fuck it up.”

Doyoung makes a strangled noise, “It’s not worth it.”

Yuta stalls, “I’m going to need more than just that, Doyoung.”

“What’s the point of dating someone if they’re just going to leave you at the end of everything?” Doyoung babbles, but he knows Yuta catches everything.

Yuta sighs, resting a hand on his hips, “Your mind is doing a thing where it’s wiring _Thing A_ : the wedding and Gongmyung leaving,” he lifts his right hand, “and _Thing B:_ the possibility of dating Taeyong,” he lifts his left hand, and then smashing them together, “together, and that’s not how it’s going to be.”

Doyoung looks at the ground blankly, unsure of what to say.

“Okay, fine,” Yuta groans, “Say you and Taeyong get together, and he leaves,” Doyoung frowns, “It’s not going to be the end of the world? Did everything end when Sicheng dumped your tiny heart? No.”

“My tiny – ”

“But,” Yuta cuts him off, “If you don’t give it a shot now, you’ll never know? And who’s to say you _won’t_ end up with that scrawny boy with the rest of your life?”

Doyoung looks up, “He’s not scrawny.”

Yuta scoffs, “Then you need to get your eyes checked.”

Doyoung sighs loudly, closing his eyes, “You’re right… About Gongmyung, not about Taeyong being scrawny.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Yuta sighs, folding his arms across his chest. He was a hugger, but he knew Doyoung had a tiny distaste for physical interaction.

“Yeah,” Doyoung hums, “Yeah, I will be.”

And Yuta leaves, promising that he’ll be back tomorrow to annoy him, but Doyoung knows it’s just a ruse for Yuta to come check on him again.

Doyoung sits in silence for a while, by himself, listening to his stomach gurgle, feeling the corners of his eyes prickle. There are a billion things on his mind that need to be sorted out, but he’s stretched too thin to be doing it right now. His phone buzzes again,

 

21JUN [23:41] **taeyong** : can i call you?  
21JUN [23:57] **taeyong** : just for a bit?

 

The apartment is quiet again, and Doyoung knows calling Taeyong will make him feel better.

With Taeyong’s work schedule (and Doyoung’s reservations), they hadn’t met since the cake-tasting session. Despite that, over the past weeks, Doyoung has wondered how he got himself so head over heels over Taeyong. Despite the obvious fact that Taeyong could probably cure the sick with his divine looks, Doyoung thinks it just might be the fact that he’s just innately attracted to Taeyong. He doesn’t know why, but he just needs to hear Taeyong laugh, see him smile, to feel a million times better.

 

22JUN [00:02] **doyoung** : yes  
22JUN [00:02] **doyoung** : call me

 

He shuts the television off, and brings Yuta’s empty mug into the kichen. He leaves it in the sink, moving to the refrigerator to heat up a container of fried rice Hyesung had brought over a couple of days ago. Peeling the lid off, he places it gently into the microwave and sets the timer to two minutes.

His phone rings then, a warm feeling spreads in his chest, and he picks it up almost immediately.

“Hi,” he says first, and over the line he hears Taeyong laugh. Soft, and a little tired.

“Hi,” he parrots. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“Ah,” Doyoung relaxes against the kitchen counter, watching the Tupperware turn. “No, Yuta was just here.”

“Oh.” There’s something there that makes Doyoung ask,

“What’s wrong?”

Taeyong clears his throat, “It’s nothing. What are you doing?”

“Heating some food up,” Doyoung hums.

“You haven’t eaten?” Taeyong sounds concerned, and Doyoung closes his eyes. What wouldn’t he give to see Taeyong again.

“I had some ddeokbokki earlier, but it wasn’t much. Have you eaten? How was work?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Taeyong sighs again, and Doyoung hears a rustling of papers, and the sound of a roller chair. “I had dinner with Youngho, and, ah, work was…” He trails off, and Doyoung waits for him to continue. “Tough. They’re making me redo a proposal, resubmission is tomorrow.”

“Will you be okay?” Doyoung says, phone sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder now, in anticipation of the timer on the microwave ending.

“Yeah, of course,” Taeyong sighs, “It’s just a difficult client.”

“Sounds pretty insane, asking you to redo the proposal in a night,” Doyoung mumbles.

“No, it’s fine,” he hears Taeyong shuffle around. Doyoung imagines Taeyong to still be in his suit, tie hung loosely around his neck, top buttons undone. Even just thinking about it makes his heart pound

“That’s rough.” The microwave beeps. Doyoung pushes the button that pops the door open. He touches the edge of the container, recoiling when it’s burning hot. He reaches for an oven mitt, trying to maneuver it out of the tiny microwave.

“Yeah, well,” Taeyong pauses, and the line is quiet. A car on Taeyong’s end drives by, and Doyoung waits for him to continue, “Talking to you makes things better.”

Doyoung nearly drops the container of fried rice, and it slips out of his hand, clanking loudly against counter. He curses under his breath.

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong asks, worry laced in his voice, and Doyoung feels his heart swell.

“Yeah, yeah, just had my plate slip,” he tries to sound reassuring, he stalls, “Does it really?”

“Yes,” Taeyong is quiet. “What about you?”

Doyoung feels like he’s back in high school. He lowers his voice, “It’s like that for me too.”

A small, sharp intake of breath. “Is it really?”

“Yes.”

Hesitation. “I’m having a birthday dinner next Saturday… Will you come?”

Doyoung doesn’t have to think twice. He’ll jump at anything to see Taeyong again. Just a half hour ago, he wasn’t sure, but Yuta’s words have gotten to him, “Yes, I’d love to go.”

Taeyong giggles, and Doyoung thinks it’s just as adorable as it is in real life, “Okay, I’ll text you the details. The others will be there too.”

Doyoung didn’t think of _that_. He doesn’t care, “Okay.”

“You can bring Yuta, if you want,” Taeyong says, and it sounds a little, just a smidgen reluctant, so Doyoung doesn’t rush to answer.

“Okay, I’ll ask him too.”

A pregnant pause.

“I can’t wait,” Taeyong breathes, and Doyoung closes his eyes. Is it pathetic that just someone’s voice could bring him so much delight? He doesn’t care, he’ll take whatever’s given.

“Me too,” he replies simply, thumbing the edge of the container.

Suddenly he hears Taeyong’s voice loud and clear, everything else is hushed, like Taeyong was in the kitchen with him, leaning against the counter with his platinum blonde hair and wide eyes and charming grin,

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

Doyoung resists the urge to slam his head against the kitchen counter out of pure happiness.

“Me too,” he says again, giddy with delight.

 

x

 

Taeyong’s birthday dinner is at a bar. There’s a dance floor and pounding music, so it could be a club too. For someone who didn’t drink, it was an odd place to hold a birthday party.

“Youngho planned it,” Gongmyung shouts over the loud music when Doyoung expresses his confusion, and they edge their way towards the group of people. Doyoung has Taeyong’s gift under his arm, neatly wrapped in plain wrapping paper, a tiny bow on the top. Inside, a black Keurig with eighteen k-cup pods, all of them different flavors.

“Speaking of which,” Doyoung mutters under his breath, spotting Youngho’s tall self at the end of the bar, waving wildly at them.

He scans the people around them for Taeyong, heart already thumping maddeningly. He doesn’t see any platinum blondes in sight, but he sees Taeyong immediately when he turns, no longer blonde, dark hair and big eyes. They widen with recognition when they lock eyes, and he breaks into a wide grin, hurriedly waving them over.

Doyoung thinks he might faint. Taeyong, while already looking amazing blonde, suited dark hair ever more. It’s a stark contrast to his pale skin, and it’s enough to take his breath away.

“You made it!” Taeyong greets them happily, pulling Gongmyung into a hug, thanking him for the gift (one of Taeyong’s favorite books, limited edition), and Doyoung waits patiently, like a kid waiting in line to meet Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.

Gongmyung moves aside to greet the rest, and Doyoung steps forward, feeling all sorts of nervous.

But it seemed like he wasn’t the only one nervous,

“Hi,” Taeyong smiles at him, charming and everything, breathless.

“Hi,” Doyoung parrots, sensing a pattern between them.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Taeyong pulls him into a hug then, before Doyoung has the chance to return the sentiment. It’s a tighter hug that lasts longer than the one he gave Gongmyung, and Doyoung quickly moves the gift out of the way to hug him back, arms wrapping around his thin waist.

“Me too,” he says into Taeyong’s ear, and the other shivers. Doyoung grins.

Taeyong pulls away, a flush to his cheeks, “Want a drink?”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t drink?”

“Just for tonight,” Taeyong shrugs, “Youngho left his card with the bartender, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t take advantage of that.”

Doyoung laughs, “Sure, I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender calls out, having overheard their exchange.

“Wow, wow, what’s this?” Taeyong’s eyes are practically sparkling under the light, scanning Doyoung’s gift to him. “You didn’t have to get me such a big gift,” Taeyong grins up at him, picking up the box to hug it.

“It’s nothing,” Doyoung says, and Taeyong is quick – he kisses Doyoung on the cheek, light and breezy, but enough to set Doyoung’s insides aflame.

“I’m going to leave this in the back,” Taeyong is practically glowing. “I’ll be back!”

Doyoung watches as Taeyong ducks back into the crows, box in hand. Half of him wants to follow Taeyong, but the other half argues that his jello legs aren’t going to last halfway across the place. So, he slides into one of the bar stools, hand on his cheek, still dazed.

“I saw that,” Gongmyung is by his side, drink in hand (a mojito), eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

“What?” Doyoung feigns stupidity, and Gongmyung smacks him hard on the thigh.

“Taeyong is a nice person, do not play around with him,” he warns. “Didn’t you say you weren’t ready to date?”

Doyoung forgets that he hadn’t gotten a chance to bring up the conversation he had with Yuta to Gongmyung, “I – ”

“Whatever it is,” Gongmyung cuts him off. “Don’t ruin anything before the wedding, okay?”

That ticks Doyoung off. _The wedding, wedding, wedding,_ he wants to say, _When is it not about the wedding?_

“I need to talk to you,” Doyoung says, and Gongmyung registers the severity in his voice, eyes turning soft.

“Okay, what is it?”

He sees a head bobbing its way back towards him, and he decides to postpone it. He doesn’t want to be overheard, “I’ll tell you tomorrow morning? Brunch?”

“I’m back,” Taeyong announces, just as Gongmyung sends him an understanding look. “Hyesung couldn’t make it?”

Gongmyung tears his gaze off Doyoung to look at Taeyong, “Sorry, she’s down with a pretty bad flu. I’m going to her place later to check on her.”

Doyoung takes a sip of his own drink.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Taeyong says reassuringly, “I hope she gets better soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll tell her,” Gongmyung smiles, and then excuses himself, “Tomorrow morning, Doyoung?”

Doyoung nods, “Yeah.”

Gongmyung grabs his drink of the coaster, leaving them promptly.

Taeyong slides into the seat next to Doyoung, and he thinks it’s cute how Taeyong’s legs are dangling in the air, just like a tiny kid sitting on a park bench.

“What’s tomorrow?” Taeyong wonders curiously.

“Nothing,” he coughs, “Just brunch.”

Taeyong hums, tapping his fingers against the counter.

“How are you?” Taeyong grabs Doyoung’s free hand, squeezing it twice. He expects him to draw his hand away, but Taeyong leaves his hand on Doyoung’s, like a steady weight.

“Great,” Doyoung smiles at him, and he shifts a little, scooching closer. The music is too loud for them to have a conversation while sitting at an arm’s length away.

Doyoung can’t help but think how different things are the last time they met. It’s as if they’ve transcended onto a different universe, in one that they’ve known each other since they were twelve

“How are you? Did you finish your proposal?”

“Yeah, I did!” Taeyong grabs Doyoung’s hands with both of his, playfully pressing against his palm with his thumbs. “It went pretty great, they accepted the new proposal without much trouble this time.”

“I’m happy for you,” Doyoung is too distracted by Taeyong playing with his hands to be coming up with good conversation starters.

“Dance with me!” Taeyong says suddenly, already hopping of his seat, tugging Doyoung along with him.

Doyoung pulls Taeyong back, and the older boy stumbles, “Wait, I can’t dance.”

“Sure, you can!” Taeyong is insistent, and Doyoung wonders if Taeyong’s had any drinks prior to his arrival. “Just listen to the music! Anyone can dance, Doyoung.”

There it is again. His name on Taeyong’s lips.

He quickly finishes his entire drink. Liquid courage.

Taeyong, unlike Doyoung, can actually _dance_. He bumps to the music in rhythm, complete with excessive body rolls. Doyoung, on the other hand, has two left feet and absolutely zero experience with dancing in public.

“Loosen up!” Taeyong laughs, eyes crinkling. Doyoung gulps.

“I can’t dance!” He nearly yells back, bopping awkwardly out of beat.

Taeyong laughs even harder at that, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Doyoung’s neck, pulling them closer, hip to hip. Doyoung’s hands naturally find themselves on Taeyong’s waist, who smiles at him, leaning in to whisper,

“Cute.”

Doyoung flushes, but when Taeyong pulls him to sway to the pounding beat, he tightens his grip on Taeyong’s waist.

“See! You’re doing it!” Taeyong is giggling in his ear, hot breath fanning across Doyoung’s cheek and down his neck.

“You’re doing all the work,” Doyoung insists, and Taeyong shivers _again_ when he breathes into his ear. Doyoung keeps that in mind.

They dance like that for a minute, Taeyong leading him, and sometimes their hips would brush, and it goes straight to Doyoung’s groin. Taeyong would laugh whenever Doyoung fumbled, mumbling words of encouragement, and Doyoung would hum in response.

When the song transitions into another, Doyoung leans forward to tell Taeyong that he wants to (needs) another drink, but someone nudges him in the back, and his lips brush the shell of Taeyong’s ear lightly.

The reaction is immediate – his grip on Doyoung’s neck tightens, a hand pulling at the short hairs on the back of his neck, and his hips jerk forward to slam into Doyoung’s. He swears he hears Taeyong moan, but the music is too loud.

“Are you okay?” Doyoung immediately pulls away, but there’s a renewed conviction in his eyes, and he yanks Doyoung down to press their lips together.

It’s quick and rough, and Doyoung doesn’t have time to adjust because it’s Taeyong pulling away this time. He stares up at Doyoung, brows furrowing together, searching for an answer in Doyoung’s.

He releases a hand off Taeyong’s waist immediately, choosing to cradle his cheek when he kisses Taeyong again, using his grip on Taeyong’s waist to pull them closer together again.

He tastes sweet.

Taeyong melts instantly, almost as if a burden has been lifted off his shoulders. He loosens his grip on Doyoung’s neck, hands slowly coming down to rest on Doyoung’s chest instead, clenched into loose fists. He licks on Doyoung’s bottom lip tentatively, and Doyoung parts his lips for him, twining their tongues together.

Doyoung licks the insides of his mouth, running his tongue over the edges of Taeyong’s teeth, and Taeyong lets him, gripping onto the front of Doyoung’s shirt, holding him close. He sucks on Taeyong’s lower lip, nibbling it gently when Taeyong lets out a hot breath. He lets go and kisses the edge of Taeyong’s lip, moving down towards his jaw, and then following the curve upwards towards Taeyong earlobe. He feels Taeyong suck in a deep breath in anticipation, and Doyoung contemplates pulling away, just to see how Taeyong would react.

Taeyong must’ve figured out what he was thinking, whimpering in Doyoung’s ear.

He takes the lobe between his lips, and Taeyong moans, embarrassingly loud, and Doyoung’s glad, for the first time tonight, that the music is loud enough to drown it out. He sucks on the bit of flesh, and Taeyong’s hands find their way back into Doyoung’s hair, tugging hard enough for it to be painfully pleasurable.

“Are you sensitive here?” Doyoung wonders aloud, but he already knows the answer.

Taeyong nods, pressing his hips against Doyoung’s again, and he isn’t shocked to find him half-hard. Doyoung was spotting a hard-on too.

He licks the shell of Taeyong’s ear, and it’s dirty to be doing it on the dance floor in a club where their group of friends are probably looking on, but Taeyong bucks up against Doyoung again, and the reservations are flying out the window. He continues to leave tiny, wet stripes over Taeyong’s ear, watching Taeyong’s every reaction; his eyes are closed, head leaning into Doyoung’s hand, lips parted, breathing heavy. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Doyoung nearly stumbles when Taeyong tugs particularly harshly on his hair.

“Kiss me,” Taeyong instructs, and Doyoung listens obediently. The kiss is slower this time, and Doyoung lets Taeyong take charge, licking every inch of Doyoung’s mouth, and then his tongue, sucking down hard.

He releases Doyoung with a loud _pop_ and there’s a string of saliva connecting them. It’s only there for a second, before Taeyong’s chasing after it, lapping it up and planting another kiss on Doyoung’s lips.

“Let’s get out of here,” he presses his forehead to Doyoung’s, and he just stares at his slick, reddened lips. Doyoung just wants to kiss him again.

“Okay,” he nods, not quite capable of anything else.

“Your place?” Taeyong’s hand slides between them, and he palms Doyoung through his jeans, giving it a soft squeeze when Doyoung gasps.

He caves and kisses Taeyong again, shuddering when Taeyong strokes him harder, moaning loudly into Doyoung’s mouth.

Taeyong’s other hand tugs on Doyoung’s hair again, “I don’t want you to come here,” he whispers, and Doyoung grunts, rutting into Taeyong’s hand. He squeezes Doyoung again, a little harder this time, “Take me home?”

“Okay.” It takes him everything in his body not to collapse to the ground when Taeyong squeezes him one last time, and he’s yanking Taeyong out the door of the club, completely ignoring the fact that they’re leaving Taeyong’s birthday party.

Doyoung pulls an arm around Taeyong to guide him out of the club, and the night air is refreshing, free of smoke and alcohol. They huddle together by the sidewalk, and Doyoung tries his best to hail a taxicab.

Taeyong is no help, pressing himself into Doyoung, wrapping his arms around Doyoung’s waist, burying his face into the crook of his neck, sucking gently on the skin under Doyoung’s jaw. It’s sure to leave marks, but Doyoung can’t be bothered with that now.

He _finally_ hails a yellow taxicab, and the driver behind the wheel stress at them suspiciously through the rearview mirror after Doyoung recites his address.

Taeyong sits on the middle seat, sidling up to Doyoung, and he keeps his hands to himself, leaning his head against Doyoung’s shoulder.

“Hand,” he mumbles, turning his right hand upwards, and Doyoung fits his own against Taeyong’s, lacing their fingers together. “Your hands,” he whispers, and the drivers turns the music up. “I love your hands.”

Doyoung hums, trying his best not to get up and press Taeyong into the seat and kiss him breathless again.

Taeyong laughs lowly, “Youngho is going to kill me for leaving before the cake.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Doyoung kisses the top of Taeyong’s head, and it’s so purely intimate that it makes his heart rattle. “You’re too precious.”

Taeyong turns to look up at him at that, eyes darting to Doyoung’s lips before his takes them between his again. His left hand creeps further up Doyoung’s inner thigh, until it’s dangerously close to Doyoung’s steadily growing boner.

“Not here,” Doyoung murmurs, moving to close his legs together, but Taeyong’s right hand shakes Doyoung’s hand off him quickly, gripping Doyoung’s thigh, holding it open.

“Are you sure?” Taeyong says against his lips, breathy and all-too-seductive. He drags his index finger up against his bulge slowly, and Doyoung’s legs fall open again almost instantly. “Mm,” Taeyong chuckles, “Feels like you want it now, though?”

“Taeyong,” he puffs, eyes fluttering to a close, he grabs him by the arm, “Taeyong, w-wait,” but Taeyong kisses him to shut him up.

The car jerks to a stop, and Taeyong yelps, and Doyoung’s arms shoot out to brace them against the front seats of the car, holding Taeyong in place.

“The cab ride is free, please just leave,” the driver says tiredly, and Doyoung almost feels bad, but Taeyong is rushing out of the cab, yanking Doyoung along.

 

The moment Doyoung closes the door to his apartment, Taeyong has him caged against it despite being shorter, tongue in Doyoung’s mouth, impatient.

Doyoung returns with fervor, arm curling around Taeyong, pressing them together.

“I didn’t know if you wanted this,” Taeyong pants into Doyoung’s mouth, hands tugging at Doyoung’s shirt, roughly pulling it up and over Doyoung’s head, tossing it aside. He runs his hands down Doyoung’s bare chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “If you wanted me.”

“I do,” Doyoung pushes Taeyong against the adjacent wall. Taeyong moans when his head thumps against the wall, and Doyoung’s eyes grow wide. “I want you,” he kisses Taeyong’s other ear, abusing it with his lips and tongue. Every moan and whimper goes straight to Doyoung’s groin. Taeyong tucks his hands into the back pockets of Doyoung’s jeans, kneading Doyoung’s ass through the denim. He shifts Doyoung a little, so that his groin is lined up with Taeyong’s thigh, and he pushes Doyoung against him.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Doyoung groans into Taeyong’s ear, bucking against Taeyong’s thigh shamelessly.

“Doyoung, Doyoung, Doyoung,” Taeyong mumbles, pressing himself against Doyoung’s thigh, and every syllable threatens to send him over the edge. “I want you to fuck me.”

Doyoung nearly whimpers when Taeyong roughly pushes him away. He jerks his hips once more, groaning when it’s met with nothing, “Okay,” he breathes, kissing Taeyong, “Okay, yeah, okay, I can do that.”

He leads Taeyong to his bedroom hastily, thanking the gods that he picked up his dirty laundry from the floor before he left for the party earlier. He turns to grab the lube from his nightstand, but Taeyong’s pushing him down against the bed, and Doyoung’s head hits his pillows. Taeyong climbs over him on all fours, straddling him easily, lining their still clothed dicks together.

“Why didn’t you want to grab coffee with me?” Taeyong grinds down hard on Doyoung, and they groan together.

Doyoung wants to hear Taeyong say his name again.

“What?” Doyoung is dazed, he can’t think straight.

“Coffee,” Taeyong unbuttons his dress shirt, revealing his pale skin, and Doyoung reaches up to touch him, but Taeyong swats him away. “You rejected me when I first met you.”

 _Oh_. “I forgot to reply,” Doyoung admits truthfully, but Taeyong doesn’t seem to buy it, palms splayed across Doyoung’s chest, slamming down harder against him, and Doyoung exhales loudly, gripping his bedsheets.

“Don’t lie,” Taeyong sniffs, pulling his shirt off completely to expose his shoulders, and his _shoulders_. God, Doyoung could look at them forever. Taeyong looks like a porcelain statue; skin polished, spotless, muscles refined, taut. “You didn’t like me at first, did you?”

Doyoung gulps. He can’t be having this conversation when most of his brain power is down pooling at his dick, “No, I did, I liked you from the start.”

Taeyong bites his lower lip, a smile growing on his face, “I’ll make you pay if you’re lying to me.”

Doyoung wants to bicker back, and Taeyong must’ve sensed it because he lifts himself onto his knees, completely off Doyoung, leaving a giant gap between them.

Doyoung whines at the loss of contact, grabbing Taeyong by the waist to pull him down, sighing contentedly when Taeyong allows him to, snugly straddling him again.

A lightbulb flickers. “I have a wish now.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“Trust me,” Doyoung says earnestly. “I honestly, just forgot.”

“Mmm,” Taeyong hums, arching his back to press his bare chest to Doyoung’s, and he shivers at the contact. “I won’t count that,” he muses, “I was just teasing you.”

“I thought you weren’t interested,” he whispers into the crook of Doyoung’s neck, rutting against Doyoung even as he spoke. “But then you said you felt the same way,” Taeyong sighs, kissing Doyoung’s adam’s apple, sucking on it when it bobs up and down. “About talking to me.”

Doyoung wants to combust. His skin is on _fire_ and Taeyong is rhythmically grinding against his hard-on, _and_ licking his neck obscenely, leaving long stripes of wet saliva.

“I like you,” Doyoung breathes, and Taeyong moves to hover over Doyoung’s face, aligning their lips close together, but not yet touching. “I really like you,” he says again, heart close to jumping out of his chest.

“You’ve only met me twice,” Taeyong pecks him lightly on the side of lips twice. Playfully, teasingly.

“This is the third,” Doyoung reminds him, and he cranes his neck to meet Taeyong’s lips, but the older pulls away just enough for Doyoung’s head to fall back into his pillows.

“Want to kiss me?” Taeyong giggles, stilling his hips.

“Yes,” Doyoung sighs, a hand coming up to caress his cheek.

“Then kiss me,” Taeyong’s eyes grow dark, and Doyoung grunts, sitting upright and pushing Taeyong along with him, their lips meeting halfway.

Taeyong wraps his legs firmly around Doyoung’s waist, bouncing lightly in Doyoung’s lap, lips still latched to Doyoung’s.

“Lube?” Taeyong mutters against his lips, and Doyoung pulls away just far enough to reach into his night stand, pulling it from the second drawer. “I cleaned up before the party,” he says shyly, and Doyoung stares at him.

“Did you expect this?”

“I hoped for it.”

Doyoung flips them around at that, and Taeyong hits the bed with a soft groan, the wind knocked out of him. His hands fly down to his pants, unbuttoning them quickly, shimmying it until it’s by his knees. Doyoung ducks down immediately to press a kiss to the tip of Taeyong’s pinkish dick, and he moans loudly. He kisses the skin near the base, reveling in the little whimpers spilling from Taeyong’s lips.

“Take off your pants,” Taeyong commands, using the heel of his foot to nudge at the small of Doyoung’s back.

He complies, getting off the bed to undo his jeans. There’s a bit of a pause before Doyoung does pull down his underwear, because Taeyong is studying him closely from the bed.

Taeyong groans when his dick springs free from his underwear, legs thrashing against the sheets, “Fuck me, now.”

Doyoung’s mind is too clouded to come up with a clever response, so he nods, grabbing one of his pillows and shoving is under the small of Taeyong’s back, and Taeyong makes a satisfied hum. He pops the lube cap open, coating his fingers quickly.

“Prop your legs up for me,” he says, and Taeyong accedes, digging his heels into the sheets. He trails his clean hand down the inside of Taeyong’s inner thighs, and Taeyong’s breathing quickens. Slowly, he rubs a lube-coated finger over Taeyong’s entrance, watching as Taeyong inches down, trying to get his finger in him quick.

Cute.

“Hurry the _fuck_ up, Doyoung,” Taeyong scolds, exhaling loudly when Doyoung finally pushes in, wet and cold and sticky and hot. Doyoung experiments, pushing his long finger all the way in, slowly, to see how Taeyong liked it. He rubs against the walls, trying to commit everything to memory, every ridge, every bump. Taeyong looks down at Doyoung, and when Doyoung looks up from between his legs, he turns away quickly, suddenly bashful.

“Is this okay?” Doyoung asks, breath fanning out and across Taeyong’s dick and balls. He squirms, gripping onto the bedsheets.

“Give me – ” He pants, bucking upwards when Doyoung curls his finger a little, exploring. “More.”

Doyoung teases, pulling his finger out, and pushing back in with two, “Like this?”

Taeyong sucks in a deep breath, nearly crying out when Doyoung starts to scissor him, just a little, patient, waiting for Taeyong to get used to the stretch.

“Doyoung, Doyoung,” Taeyong whimpers, heels sinking lower into the bed, “Left, _left_.”

He listens, angling his fingers towards the left, probing, probing, until Taeyong literally screams, pushing away from Doyoung’s finger, “Fuck!”

Doyoung holds him back down, his own dick throbbing at Taeyong’s sensitivity. He presses into Taeyong again, angling left, pressing down hard,

Taeyong moans loudly, panting, “There, _there!_ ”

“Here?” Doyoung presses down again, and Taeyong convulses, hips jerking wildly to meet with Doyoung’s fingers.

Taeyong bites hard into his palm, whimpering pathetically when Doyoung massages against his prostate with the pads of his fingers, eager to please.

“Tell me what you want,” Doyoung’s other hand grabs Taeyong’s dick, stroking him in time with his fingers in Taeyong, making him cry aloud. “Is this okay?”

“I – ” Taeyong cries, trying to prop himself up on his elbows, but failing when it fails to catch purchase. When he finally does, he reaches for Doyoung’s hair immediately, tugging him closer, “I want you – kiss me,”

The angle is difficult for Doyoung, so he moves to accommodate, sidling up to Taeyong’s side, both hands still working him relentlessly.

Taeyong kisses him fiercely, tongue fucking Doyoung’s mouth with ardor, but it doesn’t last long, too preoccupied with Doyoung’s administrations to his ass and dick. He breathes against Doyoung’s lips, open-mouthed and _hot_. He grips Doyoung’s hair tight, shuddering at every press against his prostate, and when Doyoung licks against his ear,

He comes with a loud yelp, smacking Doyoung _hard_ on the back of his head just purely out of reflex. Doyoung would’ve laughed if Taeyong wasn’t coming undone right in front of his eyes, grabbing Doyoung tightly by the shoulders, sure to leave marks.

The sight is enough to herd Doyoung to the edge, and he hurriedly moves to press his dick against Taeyong’s, stroking them together.

“I’m – ” he wheezes, vision white hot when Taeyong moans right into his ear,

“Come with me, _Doyoung_.”

That kicks him over the edge, and he comes, following Taeyong, covering his hand and their torsos in white ribbons.

Doyoung slows down, still stroking Taeyong after his orgasm, even as he flops back onto the bed, a thin arm over his eyes, chest heaving. When his breathing slows, Doyoung pulls his fingers out slowly, still milking Taeyong dry. He plucks several tissues off the nightstand, cleaning his fingers only when Taeyong is calm.

Taeyong pulls Doyoung down to kiss him on the lips, just a press of their lips together, pulling away only to smile up at him. They don’t exchange words, and the comfortable silence is satisfying.

Doyoung kisses him again, moving to get up,

“Where are you going?” Taeyong blinks, a tight grip on Doyoung’s wrist.

“Get you a towel,” Doyoung brings his lips to kiss Taeyong’s bony knuckles, “Clean you up.”

Taeyong pouts, but release him in favor of a clean body.

 

Doyoung’s still triumphant, even as he trudges out to the bathroom. He squints when he flicks the light on, bright and fluorescent, practically blinding when compared to the dim light of his bedroom. His hair is sticking out in all directions, and his neck and chest are covered in pink bite marks and his back his covered red, angry lines that Taeyong made, digging his nails into his back when Doyoung fingered him dry.

His reflection in the mirror stares back at him as he turns the tap on, dampening a washcloth so that he can go back to bed and clean Taeyong off as well. He pulls on a pair of boxers hanging on the hook behind him; a faded green pair with four leaf clovers on them.

Turning the tap off, he wrings the cloth once, twice, before he quietly pads back into his room, careful not to open the door too wide, lest the bright light floods the room. He shuts the door lightly, hovering over Taeyong for a moment.

Taeyong has his eyes closed, hands by his sides, completely worn out. His neck has matching bite marks and hickeys, courtesy of Doyoung.

“What are you staring at?” Taeyong mumbles, cracking an eye open, a lazy smile on his lips.

“You,” Doyoung sits on the edge of the bed, slowly cleaning Taeyong up, his thighs, between, his stomach. Taeyong lies still as he did so, allowing Doyoung to do as he pleases, breathing deeply through his nose. “You okay?”

Taeyong opens his eyes at that, groaning a little when he sits up. Doyoung grabs onto his thin arm to steady him, “Yeah,” he kisses Doyoung again, and it’s nothing like the heated kisses they shared just minutes before. It’s sweet and soft, nothing sexual about it. Just a kiss. “Numb,” Taeyong laughs, “But good.”

Doyoung gives Taeyong’s thigh one last wipe before he balls the washcloth up, tossing it into the rubbish bin, too lazy to leave the room again.

“Thanks for cleaning me up,” Taeyong kisses him again, chaste.

“It’s nothing,” Doyoung shakes his head, leaning in plant another kiss on Taeyong’s lips.

“You say that a lot,” Taeyong mulls, slowly lying back against the pillows, gently tugging Doyoung along. He crawls under the sheets, and lifts it for Doyoung to join him **. “** So, I guess now I only owe you one wish?”

“Wait, I thought you said that wasn’t counted?” Doyoung pouts, pulling Taeyong close to him. He leans into Doyoung’s chest, lining kisses on his clavicle.

“I changed my mind.”

“When?”

“When you came back with underwear on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos + comments / criticisms are greatly appreciated ♡ feedback warmly welcomed! [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung) | [more notes](https://jenhyung.tumblr.com)


	2. the second wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: 12k+ of ??????????????, what happened???, drama drama drama drama, crying, fluff, kissing, embarrassingly self-indulgent... (this has not been proofread...)

The morning after should've been, by Doyoung's assumptions, extremely awkward.

He didn't know if having sex allowed them to completely skip the whole courting peacock dance around the bushes. Not that he wanted to skip courting Taeyong.

Lying flat on the bed with Taeyong on his chest, blanket over them both, sleeping soundly, breathing softly through his nose, Doyoung lets his mind wander.

Taking Taeyong out for lunch during his lunch breaks at work, to the movies (because, once, Taeyong confessed he hasn't been in a theatre since freshmen year), to the zoo (Taeyong loved animals, and while Doyoung was afraid of them, he'd still take him there, just to see the smile on his face). He wanted to be able to call him whenever he wanted, no reservations about what he wants to say, and tell Taeyong that despite only knowing him for a couple of months, he's hopeful – hoping – for something more.

Careful not to rustle him, Doyoung looks down to admire the slope of his nose, the dip in his cupid's bow, and the curve of his lips. Taeyong has both hands curled loosely under his chin, and Doyoung admires his thin fingers, nails neatly tapered.

It's peaceful. The way his shallow breaths fan across Doyoung's chest, heartbeat steady. There’s a bit of drool on the corner of his lips, but Doyoung doesn’t mind.

It should’ve been awkward, but it just… wasn’t.

He tilts his head slightly, taking in a deep breath, smelling the crown of Taeyong’s head. It smells like a kind of mango-y soap, fused with just the way Taeyong smells, and tastes (his lips, his skin).

It’s _delectable._

“What are you staring at?” Taeyong mumbles, but there’s no movement, just his lips.

Doyoung allows himself to run his fingers gently through the older boy’s hair, “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Taeyong hums, sending shallow vibrations down Doyoung’s sternum, “I could feel you sniffing me.”

“Sorry,” Doyoung murmurs, not really knowing what to say.

“No,” Taeyong sighs, lifting his chin to look at him. “Do I smell bad?”

Doyoung shakes his head, eyes already enraptured by his dry lips. He wonders if Taeyong would mind if he kissed him now, morning breath and all, “I like the way you smell.”

Taeyong rests his palm on Doyoung’s chest, looking down again, “You’re not too bad yourself.”

It’s quiet between them for a bit. Taeyong shifts slightly every couple of minutes, running his legs up Doyoung’s, hands thumbing the edge of his boxers. It’s nothing too sensual, but just affectionate, intimate.

“Happy birthday,” Doyoung remembers, recollecting last night’s events. His heart thumps.

“Thanks,” Taeyong caresses Doyoung’s torso with his fingers, feather light. “What did you get me? I didn’t get to open my gift.”

“A Keurig.”

Taeyong looks up at him again, hand stilling, “That’s expensive… You didn’t have to.”

Doyoung shakes his head, “It was nothing.”

Taeyong scoots upwards then, dragging the blanket with him, until he’s directly atop Doyoung, hip to hip, chest to chest. He taps his fingers on Doyoung’s chin, and then his lower lip, “You say that a lot.”

Doyoung wants to give his finger a little lick, just a tiny one, but he thinks better of it, “You pointed that out last night.”

“Can I kiss you?” Taeyong prods at his lip, pulling at it a little.

Doyoung nods stiffly, not quite able to form words.

Taeyong grins, ducking down, taking his lower lip between his, and sucking gently. Doyoung sighs, curling his arms around Taeyong. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Taeyong moves against his lips lazily, eyes fluttered shut.

It’s nothing too intense, not like their kisses from the night before, hungry and urgent. It’s calmer now, slower and indulgent, like Taeyong’s trying to savor him as much as he can before they have to part.

Taeyong’s hands find their way to grip Doyoung’s hair gently, and he realizes that it must be something Taeyong likes to do, remembering the number of times he’s had his hair pulled the night before.

“Doyoung?”

Taeyong’s lips still immediately, eyes flying open, and it’s a little comedic; their lips still latched together, eyes wide open, staring straight at the other.

“Who is that?” Taeyong whispers against his lips, looking a hint _too_ panicked.

Doyoung doesn’t have time to answer, because the door to his room is flung open, revealing,

“Yuta!” Doyoung screeches, hastily pulling the blanket up and above to cover Taeyong’s exposed shoulders.

“Oh, my god!” Yuta’s hands flies to his eyes, but he makes no move to leave the room. “Gongmyung said we were having brunch!”

“Forget about brunch!” Doyoung snaps, hugging Taeyong close to him under the blanket. “Get out!”

“Sorry!” Yuta says a final time, but not before giving Doyoung a cheeky thumbs up. He shuts the door lightly.

His heart is hammering in his chest, breathing heavy from getting caught by Yuta, of all people.

“Are you okay?” Doyoung says quickly, realizing that Taeyong was still hidden under the covers.

Taeyong scrambles to sit up immediately, a flush on his face and a frown on his lips, “Yeah, yeah.”

Doyoung sits up too, moving the blanket to cover the other’s naked half, “Sorry,” and Taeyong looks away, “Yuta _really_ has zero boundaries, like completely, absolutely, has utterly no idea how to knock – ”

Taeyong cuts off his rambling, “Is there anything between the both of you?”

The blood flowing to his brain must’ve been cut off, because he can’t seem to comprehend, “What?”

Taeyong pulls the blanket further up his lap, covering himself, “You. Yuta. Is there anything between the both of you?”

“Oh, god, no,” Doyoung laughs nervously, but Taeyong is looking at him now, eyes steady, humorless, lips in a tight line. He clears his throat, “I mean,” he reaches for Taeyong’s hands slowly, not wanting to scare him off. Taeyong very much resembled cats, easy to startle, and the way he’s staring at Doyoung with guarded eyes, it paralleled a cat hiding under a car.

“There’s absolutely nothing between us. He’s just a friend.”

Taeyong doesn’t say anything, but lets Doyoung take his hands.

“Scouts honor,” Doyoung lifts three fingers. “I’ve never felt anything towards Yuta,” he pauses, “Well, maybe sometimes intense hatred, but that’s only when he pisses me off,” he adds, trying to lighten the oddly sour mood.

Taeyong sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and then opening them. They’re more tender now, “I… don’t date anyone with hesitations,” he forewarns, “It’s either you like me, or you don’t.”

Doyoung nods, sensing there’s more, waiting for Taeyong to continue.

“I – ” Taeyong grips the blanket tighter, and Doyoung scooches closer, trying to provide some sort of comfort. “I tend to give more of myself than I should,” he says softly, and the air around them is so vulnerable that Doyoung doesn’t know how it came to be. “And it’s just _precaution_ for me to stay away from the ones that are hesitant, I don’t want to be the only one falling in love.”

Doyoung’s heart sinks like so far down to the ground that Mrs. Lee in the apartment two floors down probably has a Doyoung-heart-shaped hole in her ceiling.

“Taeyong, I – ”

“It’s not like,” Taeyong rushes to say first, and Doyoung nods, imploring him to continue. “It’s not like I’m expecting every relationship that starts out well to end well, obviously,” Taeyong prattles on, hands waving unsteadily in front of them. “Neither am I hoping for you to fall in love with me right off the bat.”

Doyoung’s thinks his heart might stop beating if he hears Taeyong say the word ‘love’ another time.

“I’m just – I just,” Taeyong sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I think first impressions are important, and I _know_ not to judge a book by its cover and,” he breathes in deeply, composing himself, “I know that relationships take time and effort to grow and progress, but I just don’t like starting out on the wrong foot. I just want to be sure, I _like_ being sure.”

“Taeyong,” Doyoung mumbles, an unsettling feeling swirling in his gut.

Taeyong bolts upright then, hands firmly in his lap, turning to look straight at him, “So tell me honestly, Doyoung, because it really matters to me,

“Did you like me when you first met me?”

Doyoung is at a crossroad. He did like Taeyong. A lot. There was no way he couldn’t have been captivated the moment he saw Taeyong, all bundled up and sniffling, walking through the doors of the suit store. And he _didn’t_ intentionally avoid Taeyong’s first invitation out for coffee, he just simply forgot about it, what with his internal discourse regarding Gongmyung’s wedded life.

But he is _sure_ , and Taeyong wants him to be sure, that he does like him.

“I did.”

And Taeyong’s eyes soften almost instantaneously, shoulders dropping with (what Doyoung assumes to be) relief.

So, Doyoung continues, “I liked you the moment I saw you,” he takes Taeyong’s by the hands again, “I liked you the moment I saw you in your giant parka with your pink hair.”

Taeyong laughs faintly, swaying closer to Doyoung, “Do you not like me with brown hair?”

It takes Doyoung everything in him not to lean forward and kiss the boy silly, “I do. I’d like you even if you had _blue_ hair.”

Taeyong tips forward, just inches away from Doyoung, their breaths mingling together, “I’ll be sure to keep that on my list.”

“I like you,” Doyoung repeats, just to be sure he’s got the message across. “I really like you.”

Taeyong closes the gap between them, kissing him lovingly, their noses brushing lightly.

The door opens again,

“Gongmyung says Taeyong can come for brunch if he wants!”

“YUTA!”

 

x

 

1JUL [11:32] **doyoung** : are you sure you don’t want me to send you off???  
1JUL [11:32] **doyoung** : did you find the bus stand???  
1JUL [11:32] **doyoung** : i’m coming down  
1JUL [11:33] **taeyong** : yes i’m fine!!  
1JUL [11:33] **taeyong** : no don’t come down!!  
1JUL [11:33] **taeyong** : i’ve already left!!  
1JUL [11:34] **taeyong** : have fun at brunch [smiley emoji]  
1JUL [11:34] **doyoung** : call me later???  
1JUL [11:35] **taeyong** : okay, i will [heart emoji]

 

“Wow, he’s got you wrapped around his little finger that quick, huh?”

Yuta’s hovering over his shoulder, a packet of dried laver in his hands, crumbs falling all over Doyoung’s shirt.

Taeyong, having made arrangements with his family for his birthday lunch, opted not to join in them for brunch, in favor of a hot shower and a new set of clean clothes. They arrange to meet for dinner, Taeyong insisting that he owed Doyoung a meal as he paid for dinner the previous time, Doyoung replying that it was Taeyong’s birthday, and that he shouldn’t have to pay. Their conversation as cut short when Gongmyung returned, too sporting clothes from the night before. There was no time to exchange pleasantries, because Taeyong was out the door in a flash, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, and Doyoung promises to call later on.

Gongmyung merely shook his head, deciding that he would only deal with all of this after several cups of coffee.

 

“Go away,” Doyoung shoos at him, tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, out of sight from Yuta’s eagle eyes. “Why are you here anyway? I was going to talk to Gongmyung about the whole,” he gestures wildly at the space in front of him, not quite sure what to call it.

“Moral support,” Yuta bites into another sheet, swiping the fallen bits off his shirt.

They were still waiting on Gongmyung, standing in the middle of the entranceway with their shoes on.

“Clean that up,” Doyoung deadpans, pointing at the bits and pieces of dried laver pooling at Yuta’s feet. “And I don’t need moral support, I just need to get everything out of my system.”

Yuta sighs, brushing past Doyoung to push the door open, sweeping the dirt out the front door and into the hallway with his foot, “There. Happy?”

“Yes, but Mr. Kim across the hall won’t be,” Doyoung glares at him, shutting the door lest the grumpy old man makes an appearance.

Yuta huffs, licking his fingers clean, “You sure you don’t want me there?”

Doyoung thinks about it for a second, “Thanks, but I’m sure.”

“Ah,” Yuta sighs, opening the door again, looking wistfully at Doyoung.

“What?”

“Just thought I’d have the avocado on toast today.”

“Get out of here, Yuta.”

 

x

 

“Okay, what is it, Doyoung,” Gongmyung says, cutting into a stack of pancakes drizzled in chocolate sauce. It was going to cause his brother a major sugar rush (and crash), but Doyoung’s too preoccupied picking at his own poached eggs to comment on it. “Tell me, so that we can finally get this giant elephant off the table.”

“You mean out of the room,” Dooyung points out, skirting around the topic. Gongmyung was growing more and more irritable as the wedding neared, and Doyoung was still unsure if coming forward with his _own_ issues was going to help.

Gongmyung fork hangs midway in the air in front of his lips, “Doyoung.”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs, picking up his orange juice to take a sip, wishing he could make it Irish. “It’s about the wedding.”

“I got that much,” Gongmyung sniffs, scooping up some syrup covered bacon. “Is it about me moving out?”

Doyoung inhales sharply, not quite expecting the conversation to escalate so quickly, “Something like that.”

Gongmyung rests his fork down on the plate, avoiding Doyoung’s eyes. He chews slowly, exhaling through his nose.

They sit like that for the next couple of minutes, food untouched, words unsaid.

“Would it help if I didn’t move out?”

Doyoung balks, “Oh, god no.”

Gongmyung stares at him questioningly, “What?”

“I mean,” Doyoung clears his throat. “If you guys are going to start a family, you’re going to need a home for yourselves.”

Gongmyung laughs despite the situation, “There are no plans for anything of that sort yet, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh.”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to approach the situation. How was he supposed to admit that yes, he wanted Gongmyung to get out of the apartment and live with Hyesung and be happy and move on with life, but at the same time, not leave Doyoung behind?

“Nothing’s going to change,” Gongmyung looks at him, expression empathetic. “We’re always going to be Gongmyung,” he points at himself, and then across, “and Doyoung, it’s always going to be the Kim Brothers.”

Doyoung tries to smile, but it seems to come out more like a pained expression, “I know,” he closes his eyes. “But it’s not going to be entirely the same, I mean, look at mom and _her_ sister.”

“What about them?” Gongmyung blinks. “They still meet on birthdays, and thanksgivings, and the new years, and christmases.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung shrugs, “But we don’t do that now, I see you almost every day – I used to see you every day. It’s going to be different.”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m dying, Doyoung,” Gongmyung tuts, unnerved. “I didn’t think you were the type to be clingy.”

Doyoung can’t believe his ears, “I’m _not_ being clingy,” he says sharply.

“Come off it,” Gongmyung scoffs, going back to his pancakes. “Yes, you are. I’m getting married! Not moving to another to country, never to return.”

Doyoung didn’t think this was how it was going to go down. He thought Gongmyung would feel the same way, like Yuta said, or at least tried to understand how he felt. It was a major life change, losing your sibling to another person, losing someone not completely, yet enough for it to change everything that’s between them. It’s as if the world is tilted too much, skewed too far to the left, not enough to cause the mountains to overturn, but just enough to make everything aggravatingly out of place.

“Fine,” Doyoung stands abruptly, pushing his chair out roughly and it screeches against the wooden floors. He lets his emotions get ahold of him, “Sorry for being a loving _brother_ ,” he fumes, stalking out of the tiny café, leaving Gongmyung to his over-sweetened pancakes, and Doyoung’s untouched meal.

 

Doyoung reaches Yuta’s apartment building in a flash, it being so close to their usual brunch place. It’s a shabby old building, maintenance check and a fresh coat of paint was well overdue. The buzzer at the front door doesn’t work, but it doesn’t matter because the front door is perpetually unlocked, thanks to the lock that doesn’t work.

After hiking up four flights of stairs (the elevators have never worked), Doyoung is huffing by the time he gets to Yuta’s apartment.

He hears someone (Yuta, probably) press up against the door to check the peephole before the door is swung open, “Doyoung? What are you doing here?”

Yuta is, as per usual, clad in a thin tank top and boxer shorts, a game control remote in his hand, a white headband on his head, holding his brown hair up in messy clumps. The theme song to Mario Kart is in the background, but Doyoung hears no one else in the apartment.

Doyoung clears his throat, straightening up, trying his best to seem as nonchalant as possible, “You’re always at my place, why can’t I come here?”

Yuta snorts, but he steps aside to let Doyoung in, “The stairs, for one, are your greatest enemy.”

“I can’t believe you’re still paying maintenance fees while staying here,” Doyoung grumbles, flopping onto Yuta’s ratty old couch, picking up the other unused Wii controller lying on the coffee table. “They’re not maintaining anything.”

“It’s called hot water and electricity, dumbass,” Yuta deliberately kicks at Doyoung’s shins to sit on the other end of the couch, resting his socked feet on the coffee table.

They go at a few rounds of Mario Kart, Yuta as Princess Peach and Doyoung as Luigi. It’s comfortable; the sound of the video games filling the apartment, punctuated with either of them mildly cursing the other out when spinning turtles and bananas are thrown about.

“I assume brunch didn’t go well?” Yuta exhales loudly, aiming a red turtle at Doyoung at the final leg of the lap, successfully coming in at first place.

Doyoung groans, tossing the control onto the couch, “You assumed right.”

“Pity,” Yuta says in awe, and Doyoung turns to stare at him. “Never knew bad things could come out of brunch. The best meal of the day, brunch. What could’ve happened during the best meal of the day?”

“Enough,” Doyoung tuts, knowing very well that Yuta wanted him to open up. Acknowledging this can of worms was what got him into this mess, Doyoung wasn’t going to dig a deeper grave, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Suit yourself,” Yuta shrugs, getting up, kicking at Doyoung’s shins again to pass through. “I’m going to order a pizza. Do you want any?”

He looks at the clock on the wall, it was close to two in the afternoon. Far enough from dinner to get Doyoung hungry, but close enough to leave him full. He didn’t know what Taeyong had planned, but he didn’t want to show up having already eaten.

“Just a slice,” he compromises.

Yuta glares at him, “Just a slice?”

“Yeah, I’ve dinner later.”

“Who with?”

“Who else?”

Yuta grabs a pamphlet for a nearby pizza joint off his fridge, and picks his phone up from the counter as he patters back to the couch, “Taeyong?”

“Yes,” Doyoung sighs. “Yes, Taeyong.”

Yuta looks up from his phone to give Doyoung a pointed look, “Does this mean he’s going to be your date at the wedding?”

Doyoung snorts, “I don’t want to go to the wedding.”

Yuta puts the phone to his ear, “If you think you’re getting out of the wedding thanks to a spat over brunch, you’re delusional. Yeah, hi, I’d like to order a large pizza – ”

Doyoung zones out then, pulling his phone from his jacket pocket. His spirits lift a little when Taeyong’s name pops up,

 

1JUL [13:58] **taeyong** : how was brunch?? [smiley emoji]  
1JUL [13:59] **taeyong** : dinner at 7??  
1JUL [13:59] **taeyong** : my place??  
1JUL [14:00] **doyoung** : tell you about it when i see you  
1JUL [14:01] **doyoung** : and yeah i’ll be there  
1JUL [14:03] **taeyong** : okay  
1JUL [14:04] **taeyong** : can’t wait [heart emoji]  
1JUL [14:04] **doyoung** : me neither [heart emoji]

 

“You guys are so domestic.”

Yuta is suddenly by his shoulder, blatantly reading his text messages. Doyoung clicks his tongue, elbowing Yuta in the ribs to shove him over to his side of the couch.

“Shut up,” Doyoung rolls his eyes, locking his phone after telling Taeyong to send him the address to his place.

“Told you it was a good idea to go for it,” Yuta huffs, leaving his phone and the pizza pamphlet on the coffee table. Before Doyoung can thank him sarcastically, Yuta continues, “Now, what are you going to do about Gongmyung?”

“Nothing!” Doyoung is exasperated. “He obviously doesn’t care about anything else other than the wedding, I don’t see why there should even be a conversation about _having_ a conversation.”

Yuta blinks twice, “Did he say he didn’t care?”

“Well, no, but – ”

“You can’t just go around assuming things, Doyoung,” he deadpans, sinking into the ratty couch, balancing the remote on his torso. “

Doyoung taps his foot, “You should’ve seen the look on his face, okay? He thought it was annoying that I thought this way.”

Yuta sighs, lazily scrolling through a list of characters on the TV screen, “Do you want me to talk to him?”

A pause. “No.”

He laughs, mirthless, like he expected Doyoung to refuse, “I’ll talk to him, but you have to speak to him too.”

Another pause. “Fine.”

Yuta picks Toad, exhaling loudly, “What would you do without me?”

Doyoung doesn’t say anything, because he knows Yuta’s aware of how grateful he is for him, even more so over the past couple of weeks, juggling his issues with both Gongmyung and Taeyong. They’ve been friends for the longest time, and Doyoung can’t say he’s been of that much help to Yuta, having always been independent and well-equipped with courage to go through with his own decisions.

He wonders what he’d truly do, if he didn’t have Yuta.

“You can pay for my pizza, if you’re thinking about how to make it up to me.”

 

x

 

Doyoung finds himself in front of Taeyong’s apartment sooner than expected, hand floating just inches away from the dark wood door, wondering if he should text the other instead.

He decides against it, rapping thrice neatly against it, waiting nervously for a response.

“Coming!”

He hears Taeyong’s footsteps scurrying towards the door, and a short pause before the door is creaked open slightly, and then flung open, “You’re here!”

Taeyong has a pair of black, thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, and a white apron over a worn t-shirt.

Doyoung thinks he could definitely get used to coming home to this, “I’m here.”

“Come in, come in,” Taeyong sidesteps to let Doyoung through, and he toes his sneakers off, leaving them neatly in the corner with Taeyong’s other shoes.

“What is that?” Taeyong asks, shutting the door, and it locks with a _click._

Doyoung lifts the small cake box in a paper bag, a tiny ribbon on the front, “Happy birthday,” he smiles, and then adds, “Again.”

Taeyong gushes, taking it from Doyoung, “You didn’t have to, really.” He moves to bring it into the kitchen, “Seriously, you’ve wished me so many times already, I feel like I turned five years older instead.”

Doyoung laughs, but it dies slowly when he steps into the apartment, it being impeccably clean, even with just a quick first look.

The walls are painted white, the furniture is all of a light wood, and there’re potted plants in every other corner. A bookshelf is on the far right of the wall, filled with tidily arranged books (according to color, Doyoung notices immediately), and there are picture frames resting on the shelves. There’s a fluffy rug under the coffee table, something neither Doyoung nor Yuta could have; the rug would immediately be ruined by their greasy pizzas and tubs of melted ice cream.

It’s nicer than both Doyoung and Yuta’s apartments combines, and much, _much_ cleaner at that. He briefly wonders how much Taeyong’s earning a year to be living like this, while Doyoung’s still trying to get by with microwaveable TV dinners he can get at the nearest convenience store.

There’s a hint of cheese and tomato wafting through the air, and Doyoung is momentarily distracted from Taeyong’s incredible home skills to focus his attention on the dinner in the works. The kitchen is a little small, but again, amazingly well designed and well kept. Doyoung’s eyes are quick to notice the condiments and kitchen appliances lined up on the kitchen counter, then spotting two pots on the stove, the fire turned low.

He didn’t know what to expect from Taeyong, neither did he have any expectations, but maybe it’s the way everything’s been arranged in the apartment? Or the way there’s a hint of peppermint mixed into the air? (He spots the humidifier in the corner.) It’s as if Doyoung could see himself sitting right there on the white leather couch, clean shirt and threadbare boxers, with Taeyong lying in his arms, sharing a bowl of popcorn, watching seasons after seasons of Friends.

“If you’re done checking my apartment out, maybe I could get a hug?”

Doyoung quickly turns back around, arms automatically reaching out for Taeyong to step into. Taeyong laughs at his tense demeanor, but wraps his arms around Doyoung’s waist to pull them together.

“Sorry,” Doyoung says, but grins when Taeyong does. “I’m just… amazed.”

“At what?” Taeyong seems genuinely surprised.

“Everything,” Doyoung cranes his neck to look around again, committing every single crook and crevice to his architect mind. The apartment looked like it came straight out of an IKEA magazine, homey and perfect, for a lack of better word.

Taeyong hums, pressing his lips lightly to the underside of Doyoung’s jaw, pulling away to say, “My apartment?”

Doyoung runs a hand down Taeyong’s back, stopping at the small of it, “You.”

“Cheesy,” Taeyong rolls his eyes in mock disgust, but the smile on his lips tell a different story. Doyoung kisses him softly, quickly, reveling in the way Taeyong’s plush lips fit against his. “Are you hungry? I made dinner.”

“I am,” Doyoung answers truthfully. He managed to fend himself from Yuta’s insistent begging to finish the last three slices of pizza. “You can cook?” He says, a little dazzled, thumbing the back of Taeyong’s shorts through his shirt playfully.

“I can,” Taeyong makes no move to stop him. “Is that impressive?”

“It is,” Doyoung doesn’t really want to move from their position like this, so close together, but the timer beeps from its place by the pot, and Taeyong is immediately squirming and out of his grip.

“Well, I think you’re going to be very impressed,” Taeyong laughs, and Doyoung steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter to watch him check on the contents of the pot. “I’m a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself.”

Doyoung eyes rake over the back of Taeyong’s neck, the lines of his narrow shoulders, the way the apron emphasizes his small waist, his pale, lean legs leaning against the counter.

“You could come help,” Taeyong’s voice snaps him out of his daydream, eyes flying back to his face, smug and amused, “Instead of staring at my ass, I mean.”

Doyoung splutters, but he moves to close the gap between them, “I wasn’t staring at your ass.”

Taeyong chuckles, tone disbelieving, “If you say so,” he hands Doyoung a wooden spoon, and points it at the pasta sauce in the pan. “Stir that.”

Doyoung huffs, and he starts to stir, “I wasn’t!”

Taeyong makes another noise of disbelief, carefully examining the spaghetti.

Doyoung concedes when he notices a hint of blush creeping up Taeyong’s ears.

 

Their conversation topics over dinner jump across the globe, from the insignificant ones like ‘If you could have a superpower, what would it be?’ to mildly somber ones like ‘What happened over brunch?’

Doyoung flinches inwardly at the question, twirling his fork, not really making much eye contact with Taeyong, who was, after all, Gongmyung’s friend _first_.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine,” Taeyong says reassuringly, reaching across the tiny square-shaped dining table to grab Doyoung’s hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

“No, no,” Doyoung sighs, flipping their hands over to rub his thumb over the Taeyong’s palm mindlessly. “It’s just… Gongmyung, and the wedding, that’s all.”

Taeyong stares at him for a second, eyes searching Doyoung’s face, trying to think of something to say.

“It’s okay,” Doyoung hurries to reassure, not wanting Taeyong to feel torn between his friendship with Gongmyung, and… whatever they had between them. “Yuta said he was going to talk to Gongmyung about it.”

“Yuta?” Taeyong looks at his own pasta, turning their hands over to pinch Doyoung’s thumb softly. “Why is he talking to Gongmyung?”

Doyoung remembers their conversation from that morning, and he hasn’t had the time to think it over, having juggled Gongmyung in the morning, and then focused on completely detaching himself from any sort of emotions during the rest of his stay at Yuta’s. (It’s a bad coping mechanism, but it works well enough to buy him time to get things sorted out.)

He rushes to explain, “It’s just,” he puts down his fork, fingers tapping the table faintly. “It’s nothing to do with Yuta,” he figures coming clean would help, “Just, Gongmyung moving out, and getting married, and how it changes everything.”

Taeyong nods, but he doesn’t look too happy, so Doyoung reminds himself not to mention Yuta for the rest of the night (and as little as possible for the rest of his life, to Taeyong, that is), “I know how that feels,” Taeyong gives him a tight smile.

The candle between them flickers, catching their attention. Taeyong insisted on lighting it up (“What! It was just lying around!”), and Doyoung wonders if it’s the light that’s shining in Taeyong’s doe-like eyes, or if it’s something else.

“My older sister got married when I was in high school,” Taeyong shrugs, thumbing the edge of the candle jar, looking a little solemn. “She moved out before I graduated, had a first baby within the next year,” he sighs, “Everything changed.”

“I was always close to her,” Taeyong continues, scrunching his nose a little. Doyoung gets up from his seat slowly, sliding into the one adjacent to Taeyong instead. He smiles, albeit sadly, and Doyoung moves to grab his hand with both of his. “I only see her every now and then, yeah,” he sighs, letting Doyoung meddle with his fingers, “And isn’t the same anymore, but,” he looks up, and Doyoung feels the back of his eyes burn at the thought of Gongmyung again, “I still love her all the same.”

“And now, I have a little nephew,” Taeyong laughs, pulling his hands away to pick his phone up. Doyoung waits patiently for him to find a picture, and cooing almost immediately when Taeyong shows him a picture of a baby boy dressed in a pumpkin outfit. “This was when he was just a baby,” he smiles lovingly, swiping through his photos to find a more recent picture. “He’s five now,” a picture of a skinny boy, an uncanny resemblance to Taeyong, grinning widely at the camera with a toy gun in his hands. “Naughty little brat,” Taeyong chides, putting his phone away. “But still the baby of the family.”

Doyoung’s voice is hoarse from having kept so quiet, “He looks just like you.”

“He does,” Taeyong’s lips quirk up at the sides, but he’s serious again the next moment, “Things are going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung murmurs, bringing Taeyong’s hands close to his lips, inspecting them intently instead of looking at Taeyong. “I know, I’m just worried, that’s all.”

Taeyong taps his foot lightly under the table, and it’s quiet between them again.

Doyoung groans loudly, trying to break the tension in the air, “I’m sorry,” he laughs nervously, leaning back in his chair, “I keeping making things all sad and somber, and we just started dating, and I’m just being a bad date, I’m really sorry. I swear I’m not like this usually,” he laughs again, grimacing at how awkward it sounds, “I really like you, and I didn’t want to bring this whole thing up,” _I don’t want to project my fears_ , Doyoung thinks, but it’s probably too late now. He looks at Taeyong then, to gauge his reactions,

Taeyong’s eyes are lit up, like Christmas lights on a snowy night, “We’re dating?”

Doyoung tilts his head, “Is that what you got from all that?”

Taeyong chuckles, resting his chin against a hand, “You’re not being a bad date. I’m glad we can talk like this easily,” he confesses, then pauses, “You really like me?”

“Yes,” Doyoung gives him a pointed look, “I told you that this morning.”

“Tell me again?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, but acknowledges, bending forward to press their lips together for just a second, “I like you.”

“Hmm,” Taeyong grins, “I like you too.”

The candlelight flickers.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung smiles softly, a warm flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Yeah, I will.”

 

When they move from the dining table to the couch, Doyoung is there by himself for the first couple of minutes. Taeyong was insistent on washing the dishes immediately, and even _more_ insistent that Doyoung need not help, seeing as he was a guest in his house.

He wriggles his toes against the fluffy rug while waiting for Taeyong, fiddling with his thumbs, daring not to check his phone, lest Yuta sends him some sort of update on his talk with Gongmyung. The photo frames on the shelves catches the ceiling light, and Doyoung pushes himself off the couch to get a better look at them.

Most of them were of Taeyong, Doyoung can tell from the big eyes and tiny nose. Pictures of baby Taeyong by the pool, a floatie around his belly, of Taeyong in the park with who Doyoung assumes to be his older sister. There’s always another boy in the pictures, looking a few years younger than Taeyong, expressions bright, matching Taeyong’s.

“Those are embarrassing,” Taeyong is by his side again, and Doyoung nearly jumps a foot in the air, too immersed in capturing the photos to his memory. “Don’t look at them.”

Doyoung laughs, furrowing his brows when he turns to look at a pouty Taeyong, “What are you talking about! You look adorable in these.”

Taeyong groans, “I should put those away,” and he starts to walk away, but Doyoung grabs him by the wrists quick, and he turns back around easily.

“Wait, you can look at my baby pictures but I can’t look at yours?” Doyoung questions gleefully, enjoying the way Taeyong’s lips part, surprised.

“I – I’ve never seen your baby pictures!” Taeyong scoffs, tugging his hands from Doyoung’s grip, and Doyoung lets him go, watching him with a pleased grin plastered on his face. “What are you talking about?” He mutters, settling in the couch.

“Really?” Doyoung narrows his eyes, but he can’t stop the smile that’s growing on his lips. “Gongmyung told me that you came over once and saw them, and thought I looked really – ”

Taeyong covers his ears, yelping, “Gongmyung’s a liar!”

Doyoung plops onto the couch beside him, their knees knocking gently, “Is he?”

“Stop it, it’s embarrassing,” Taeyong glares at him.

Doyoung guffaws, “What? That you think I’m,” he pauses for effect, “cute?”

“And what if I do?” Taeyong says haughtily, folding his arms across his chest, looking a lot like a child that’s been denied ice cream after dinner.

“I think it’s cute,” Doyoung wets his lips, leaning close, intentions clear.

“No, no, no,” Taeyong shoves at his shoulders lightly, but enough for him to stand up. “You don’t get to kiss me after making fun of me.”

Doyoung tugs at Taeyong’s arm just the _slightest_ , but he falls too easily onto Doyoung’s lap, straddling the other with ease, “Okay,” he laughs, hands coming down to rest on Taeyong’s hips, and Taeyong rests his on Doyoung’s shoulders, “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “Just shut up.”

 

(They go for brunch the morning after.)

 

x

 

In the following weeks, Doyoung learns that he’s never felt anything for anyone like the way he feels when he’s with Taeyong.

It doesn’t matter if they have to scarf down sandwiches on a Tuesday afternoon, when Taeyong is squished between meetings, complaining between mouthfuls about Youngho (the son of the company’s president, Doyoung learns) goofing off during presentations. It doesn’t matter if Taeyong always falls asleep whenever Doyoung comes over after dinner to watch reruns of television shows they don’t keep track of (they just watch whatever’s recommended, since they spend most of the time talking anyway). It doesn’t matter if Taeyong’s piled up with assignments to complete, far too busy to go out during the weekends for any sort of exciting date.

Doyoung makes it up by following him on his walk to work every morning, coffee and bagel in hand when he waits for Taeyong at the entrance of his apartment building. They spend the fifteen minutes talking, about Minhyung’s (the boy in Taeyong’s baby pictures) endeavors at college, about Youngho’s new found motivation to date Taeil again (Doyoung doesn’t say much about this), about Doyoung’s projects as a freelance architect (Taeyong is envious that he gets to work from home).

If time permits, they have dinner together after work, and Taeyong holds the reigns, deciding on if they’re eating out or not, depending on how tired he is. If he is, they eat at the nearby restaurants by Taeyong’s workplace, filled with restaurant bars for after-work socializing, and small restaurants with cozy settings. With just the both of them, dinner out is an easy settle, no matter what cuisine they decide on having.

If Taeyong wants to cook, they visit the nearby supermart, and Doyoung trails after him while Taeyong expertly picks out fresh ingredients for whatever’s on the menu for the night. It’s enjoyable just to listen to him prattle on about how to pick the best tomatoes, or how to tell if an avocado is ripe (Doyoung still has no idea). There really is nothing to it, combing through aisles for a particular brand of sauces they always seem to overlook together, and celebrating their triumph when they finally find it.

Doyoung waits patiently by the kitchen counter as Taeyong cooks, only stepping forward when he’s called to help. Taeyong tells him little tips and tricks on how to cook basic dishes, and Doyoung thinks Taeyong could have his own cooking show. He tells him just that, and Taeyong waves at him to set the table, ignoring Doyoung’s playful teasing about how he could be the next Martha Stewart, complete with blonde hair and white apron.

He doesn’t mind tucking Taeyong into bed, washing their dinner dishes and turning out the lights, and locking the windows before he leaves for home. Doyoung insists on not staying over during the weekdays, not wanting to impose, and stay at Taeyong’s place while he’s working hard all day.

Doyoung goes over to Taeyong’s place during the weekends, and that’s when he stays over. They spend the days at the table, working quietly while in each other’s comfortable company, Doyoung on his current housing project, and Taeyong on his multiple proposals. They usually have lunch ordered in, and Doyoung didn’t mind having black bean noodles three Saturdays in a row when Taeyong kept having the craving for it. Taeyong would cook them dinner, depending on Doyoung’s request, since Taeyong gets to pick what’s for lunch. Whether it was fried rice, steak, or stew, Doyoung loved Taeyong’s cooking. It always left him satisfied, belly full, and heart warm. They would return to work after dinner, back into their comfortable silence. 

(They spend the nights doing other, less quiet, things.)

 

Doyoung doesn’t get around to talking to Gongmyung. He avoids him at all costs, choosing to spend his time with Taeyong instead, staying at his apartments whenever he knows Gongmyung will be home. The other didn’t seem to have a problem with that either, not once mentioning the current state of their relationship.

 

“Have you spoken to Gongmyung yet?” is the first thing out of Yuta’s mouth the moment they meet for the first time in a couple of weeks (three, Doyoung thinks.)

“No,” is Doyoung’s reply. “He’s staying over at Hyesung’s today.”

Yuta gripes, “You’re telling me that he’s been at Hyesung’s for the past two months? That’s how long it’s been, Doyoung, did you know that?”

Doyoung, in fact, did know that. With September rolling by quick, and October just around the corner, there isn’t much time before the wedding in December, or the bachelor’s party in November.

“What do you expect me to do, Yuta,” Doyoung shrugs, eyes still glued to the floorplans of the current room design he’s in-charge of. He’s had this conversation too many times to bother, and he didn’t like to entertain the idea that Yuta insisted on coming over past midnight just to clear out his pantry with his vacuum-like mouth, then nagging at him for not speaking to Gongmyung. “He’s avoiding me just as much as I’m avoiding him, and I’m not going to talk to him if he’s not going to me, it’s really that simple.”

“You guys sound like a bunch of high schoolers,” Yuta snaps, getting up to presumably get another bag of chips.

Gongmyung has been spending more and more time out at Hyesung’s apartment, and Yuta has started to slowly move his things in when Doyoung’s out during the day.

Doyoung has yet to mention this to Taeyong, after one day realizing how restless he gets whenever Yuta’s mentioned, and so he strays from naming anything related to Yuta.

“What, why?” Yuta looks equally baffled, maybe borderline queasy (at the idea of being them being together), after Doyoung brings it up, when he’s returned with more snacks.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung juts his lower lip out, blinking away the blurriness from having stared at the screen for so long. “He was pretty bothered by it when you busted down the door that morning.”

“I’m not surprised,” Yuta snorts, scrolling through his phone with dirty fingers. “Caught a glimpse of his back,” he says as-a-matter-of-factly, “Before you shoved him under the blankets, that is.”

Doyoung rubs at his eyes, “I was surprised. Can’t you, like, knock?”

“I did,” Yuta deadpans, “You didn’t hear me. Probably because all of the blood in your head was down at your morning wood.”

Doyoung glares at him, “Whatever.”

“Huh,” Yuta frowns, expression bored. “I didn’t peg him to be the possessive type.”

“Is he?” Doyoung saves his work, eyeing the clock, _01:32AM_.

“Is he not?” Yuta counters, crushing up the now empty packet. He gets up to toss it in the trash, but not before giving Doyoung a deliberate once-over, “He’s really got nothing to worry about anyway.”

Doyoung purses his lips, not really registering the straight up insult Yuta just threw at him, “It’s probably just because we hang out so much.”

“Yeah,” Yuta calls from the kitchen. “We should really stop doing that.”

Doyoung scoffs, picking up his laptop, “You won’t find anyone to go to brunch with you.”

Yuta pretends to contemplate, “There’s always Gongmyung.”

Doyoung is prickled, “Go ahead.”

“You should really speak to him soon,” Yuta doesn’t back down, and it’s one of the things Doyoung hates (and admires) about him. “I can’t imagine all of us at the bachelor’s party if the two of you still have your hissy fight going on.”

Doyoung picks at the edge of his laptop case, “Maybe I’m uninvited.”

“Hah!” Yuta belittles. “In your dreams.”

Doyoung is quick to end the conversation, “Anyway, you can stay if you’d like, by the way. I don’t think he’s coming back tonight.”

It’s a little sad to hear it with his own ears, and the momentary look of pity flitting across Yuta’s face is enough to assure him just that.

“It’s fine,” Yuta waves him away, already heading towards the door. “Wouldn’t want to be here if Taeyong decides to surprise you in the morning.”

“He doesn’t do that,” Doyoung says with confidence, knowing full well that he’s to be at Taeyong’s apartment building in about seven hours.

Yuta looks over his shoulder, hand on the handle of the door, “Either way, don’t want to ruin a good thing you got going on.”

It sounds just a tad too bitter, too harsh, and there’s a tiny whirlpool of guilt brewing in Doyoung’s gut. He’s been hanging out with Taeyong more and more, which meant he wasn’t spending as much time as he used to with Yuta. For someone who’s been complaining about change, he hadn’t realized he was doing the exact same thing to his best friend, the one who’s been by his side since the start. It wasn’t like he meant to do it on purpose either, but what was he supposed to do? Pick Taeyong over Yuta? Or the other way around?

He couldn’t possibly do that. If he had to, he might be able to, but Doyoung didn’t want to think about that. The whirlpool in his gut grows into a full-blown vortex of acid throwing itself around, burning his insides.

It was more or less exactly what he was asking of Gongmyung, _Pick me, or your future wife_.

A horrible feeling.

“Yuta,” his voice cracks embarrassingly on the second syllable, and the other turns with an annoyed expression. “Let’s hang out soon.”

Yuta stares at him keenly, jaw set. It’s a silent conversation on this part, and Doyoung waits for Yuta to get what he’s saying without actually saying it. A look of comprehension dawns on his face, and Doyoung’s almost relieved,

“You’ll talk to Gongmyung?”

Doyoung cringes internally. The fact that Yuta has known that he’s been treating their friendship like how he lamented over Gongmyung; it feels like the vortex of acid is burning through his gut and it’s seeping through his skin.

“Okay, I will,” he concedes, more so to please Yuta than to fix things with Gongmyung. A good reason, nevertheless.      

“Alright,” Yuta sighs, looking a lot more relaxed. “See you around.”

“I’m sorry,” Doyoung blurts out before he can stop himself, truly apologetic.

Yuta’s eyes soften, and he sighs again, “You owe me brunch.”

Doyoung agrees immediately, “Day after tomorrow?”

Yuta nods, and he leaves, but not before giving Doyoung a small smile.

 

x

 

Doyoung paces around his room, chewing at the ends of his nails, a nervous habit. He’d just gotten home after his routine walk with Taeyong, almost ready to fall back asleep, pretty much emotionally drained from all the mental scolding he’s done to himself about neglecting Yuta. Gongmyung’s shoes were kicked off messily by the front door, and Doyoung thinks he hears the shower running.

The bathroom door across Doyoung’s room squeaks open then, and Doyoung takes several deep breaths, trying to muster up as much courage as he can to confront his brother.

“We need to talk,” he says sternly the moment Gongmyung comes to sight, toweling his hair by the couch.

Gongmyung stares at him for a moment, frozen in place. He collects himself quickly, gesturing for Doyoung to continue, taking a seat on the couch, busying his hands with his towel.

“This,” Doyoung motions frantically at the space between them. “Needs to stop.”

“Okay,” Gongmyung agrees easily, and Doyoung thinks their time apart might’ve done some good too. “Sorry,” he says immediately, “About the way I acted over brunch. I didn’t really know what you were getting at.”

Doyoung shuffles over and plops himself down beside Gongmyung, “It’s okay.” He sighs, “I overreacted.”

Gonngmyung laughs, shifting to let Doyoung rest his head on his shoulder, “Hyesung’s missed your badly fried sweet potato slices.”

“Badly fried? You had no trouble eating them all throughout high school,” Doyoung jabs at his ribs lightly.

They sit in silence, just wanting to spend some time together, having not for the past couple of months. Doyoung doesn’t even mind that Gongmyung’s wet hair is dampening the back of his shirt.

“How’s your bachelor’s party planning coming along?”

Though it’s usually the best man’s job to plan one, the task was forwarded to Chanyeol to handle, while they had their cold war.

Gongmyung chuckles, sounding a little tired, “Insane. He’s teamed up with Youngho to buy out five tables at the club down 42nd,” he shakes his head. “I told them not to make it huge, but I doubt they heard me.”

Doyoung’s ears perk up at the mention of Youngho, “That Youngho guy… Is he rich?”

Gongmyung nods, “Oh, yeah. His family owns one of the biggest companies here, and I’m pretty sure he’s in line to run it one day.”

“He doesn’t look it,” Doyoung comments, thinking of the Kardashian’s lavish lifestyle.

“That’s because he’s all about that living the ‘normal’ life,” Gongmyung makes a show of air quotes. “But a guy with good intentions, Youngho.”

“I expect your bachelor’s party is going to be extravagant?”

Gongmyung nods solemnly, “It is.”

Doyoung doesn’t laugh, because he’s going to be here too, “Will everyone be going?”

“Everyone and more,” Gongmyung inhales deeply. “Pretty sure Chanyeol sent out an announcement on his Kakaotalk, to everyone in his contact list to be there.”

“And Hyesung’s okay with this?”

“Her bridal party pulled together cash to rent out a boat for two days,” Gongmyung shrugs, and Doyoung’s head bobs along. “But we agreed no strippers.”

Doyoung snorts, “We’ll see.”

A heavy lull. “How are things with Taeyong?”

“Good,” Doyoung’s reply is instant. “Great, amazing.”

“He’s a good guy, huh?” Gongmyung’s tone is teasing.

“Yes,” Doyoung groans, but he’s already grinning. “The best.”

“The one?”

“Too soon to tell,” Doyoung shakes his head. “But I hope so.”

 

x

In retrospect, Doyoung should’ve seen it coming.

Everything was going on a little _too_ smoothly. He was juggling work, and splitting up his free time between Taeyong and Yuta as evenly as he could. It’s difficult to spend half the day with Taeyong, and the other half with Yuta, and not having to speak about either of them to the other.

Things with Gongmyung were getting better too, and he’s returned to hanging out with Hyesung as well, helping them pick out flower arrangements, table settings, other décor stuff that the bridal party didn’t already have completely control over.

 

It all goes to shit the night of the bachelor’s party, November 18th, a month away from the wedding.

 

x

 

“Where’s Taeyong?”

Doyoung fixes the leather jacket he borrowed from Gongmyung’s closet, pulling it over a white t-shirt. It’s cold outside, but he assumes they’re going to be in the club the entire night, so he isn’t too worried about it.

“Youngho’s taking him there,” Doyoung answers Yuta, who’s already clad in a skimpy enough outfit (by Chanyeol’s strict orders). His defined muscles peek out from under his ripped jeans, and his baggy tank top does nothing to cover his skin, or protect him from the cold. “Are you going to grab a jacket?”

“Do I need one?” Yuta muses, tapping away at his phone, light illuminating his expertly styled hair, pushed back to showcase the ‘beauty that is my face’ (he said this a minute ago).

“Er, yes,” Doyoung looks at his own hair in the reflection, flat and a little plain, but he’s doesn’t really mind. “It’s freezing out there.”

“I’ll just grab one of Gongmyung’s,” Yuta sighs, pushing himself off Doyoung’s bed, stretching his arms, yawning loudly, leaving the room with a loud groan. He’s been having rigorous training, seeing as how soccer season is just around the corner, and spending a lot more time at Doyoung’s, since his place (soon to be theirs) is closer to campus, where the national team trains.

Doyoung looks at himself in the mirror again, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes. He’s been strung tight lately, and a night out would probably help calm his nerves. After deciding that his jeans are ripped enough by Chanyeol’s standards, he moves to pull a pair of socks from his chest of drawers. He pads out into the living room, grabbing a pair of combat boots Yuta got for him for his birthday a few years ago from the shoe cabinet. He’s only ever worn it twice, and both of those times were during Halloween when he dressed up as the hunter from Tarzan, and then Captain America.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Yuta reappears with another one of Gongmyung’s jackets, a casual, black blazer, rolled up at the sleeves, and unbuttoned. It’s not going to be providing him much warmth, but Doyoung reasons that Yuta’s insane metabolism will probably kick in and keep him warm.

“Right,” Doyoung flicks the hallway light off. “Let’s go.”

 

They can hear the club music pounding the moment the taxicab pulls up onto 42nd street, and Doyoung already knows he’s going to be waking up with a headache tomorrow morning.

Doyoung thinks he can physically feel the music pounding in him when they step into the dark venue, green and purple neon lights flashing wildly.

“Ugh,” Yuta groans loudly, leaning close to Doyoung, “The lights are going to make me sick.”

He’d always been easily affected by flashing lights (fireworks were Yuta’s worst nightmare), leading to insane headaches, so Doyoung grabs his arm, eyes searching wildly for Taeyong (or anyone else too, but mainly Taeyong).

Chanyeol is spotted, arms waving wildly, looking oddly a lot like Youngho from a distance, soon after a gaggle of girls push past them, matching tiaras on their heads, drinks in hand. Doyoung momentarily wonders if he should’ve gotten Gongmyung a crown too.

He pushes past the crowd, creating a tunnel vision just to get to the corner of the club, dragging Yuta along, occasionally turning back to make sure he isn’t just hauling Yuta’s dead body across the dance floor.

Scanning the group as he nears, he doesn’t spot Taeyong in any of the seats, and a little part of him is relieved. He was still tiptoeing around him about Yuta, and it wouldn’t help to show up with Yuta burying his head in Doyoung’s back.

“My brother, everyone!” Gongmyung introduces all too loudly to be sober, and Doyoung dumps Yuta onto one of the seats in the darkest corner, handing him a menu silently so that he could pick something to eat, which always helped him feel better. The music was muffled too, thanks to the insane amount of velvet padding on the walls around the tables.

“Ah, the brother!” It’s Jongin, cocktail loose in his hand. There’s another boy beside him, with wider eyes and fuller lips, bottled water cradled on his lap. Doyoung can’t recall the name, but he assumes it’s Jongin’s date to the wedding. “Quickly, quickly, order your drinks, you’re already lagging behind.”

“Drinks are on Youngho tonight!” Sehun raises a glass of champagne, and everyone within the near vicinity cheers in response, uniting with a solid ‘Youngho!’

Doyoung smiles awkwardly and excuses himself with a nod, retreating to where he left Yuta to pore over the laminated menu. He hits the button on the table after deciding, patiently waiting for a waiter to arrive.

“Hey.”

Doyoung doesn’t need to turn to know who’s winding a thin arm around his waist, but he turns anyway, already beaming down at Taeyong, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Taeyong says again, but to Yuta this time, starting to frown a little. Doyoung inhales, holding his breath. They hadn’t cross paths ever since Yuta interrupted them that morning, and Doyoung would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Taeyong steps away from Doyoung, and he’s about to protest, but Taeyong moves to rest a hand on Yuta’s shoulder.

Yuta doesn’t flinch, and Doyoung is plenty confused.

“Are you okay?” Taeyong asks, concern clearly etched across his face. “Should he really be drinking?”

Doyoung and Yuta share a look, just for a split second, and Yuta nods his head, “I’m okay, it’s just the lights, thanks.”

“Oh, okay,” Taeyong smiles, and Doyoung wonders if he’d saved the country in his past life to be blessed with such godlike luck in this one. “You look a little pale,” he says, still looking at Yuta, “I ordered some nachos, maybe you’d feel better after having them?”

“I was just about to order some,” Yuta returns the smile, tapping on the menu. “Thanks, Taeyong.”

It’s awkward, but there are no hitches, so Doyoung’s thankful. Taeyong slides into the seat beside Yuta, and pats on his other side for Doyoung to join him.

Their ordered food and drinks come quickly, Yuta thanking Taeyong once again for the nachos, and shifting his buffalo wings to have them settled between the two of them, offering them to him as well.

“That’s not fair,” Doyoung mutters, eyeing the two of them hovering over their shared appetizers.

“What?” Taeyong says, a nacho chip between his fingers.

“Sharing food and everything,” Doyoung huffs, reaching to grab a wing, but Yuta swats his hands away. “Yuta never shares food with me. Ever.”

“That’s because I actually like Taeyong,” Yuta says from the other side, sipping on his mojito, headache clearly dissipating quickly.

Taeyong laughs, eye crinkle and all, and Doyoung knows it’s genuine, “Hear that? Yuta likes me.”

Doyoung scoffs, choosing to lean into whisper into Taeyong’s ear, “And I know what _you_ like.”

Taeyong shivers, just as Doyoung expected, glaring at the other when the moment’s passed.

“I love you guys,” Yuta interrupts, his eyes closed, “But please do that when I’m not within your five-mile radius.”

“Sorry,” they mumble in unison, and Doyoung laughs, taking Taeyong’s clean hand in his, nursing his long island tea with the other.

They sit in silence, listening to the music transition from song to song, and Taeyong taps to beat on the back of Doyoung’s hand with his thumb, swaying his head just a little, but focused solely on the food and people in front of them. Doyoung’s seen Gongmyung take about eight shots of pure vodka, and Chanyeol and Sehun are racing round after round to see who finishes five shots of tequila first. It’s loud, and rowdy, and enjoyable to watch, so Doyoung settles against the plush cushions, feeling strangely satisfied.

 

It’s Taemin.

It’s not Taemin’s _fault_ , but it’s Taemin who says it.

“Hey!” Yuta calls him over, pointing at the plate of wings in front of him, and Taemin excuses himself from whoever he was speaking to (Jongin’s wedding date), coming over with a drink in his hand.

“Not drinking tonight, either, Taeyong?” Taemin grins, already looking buzzed. “C’mon, it’s Gongmyung’s bachelor’s party!”

“Oh,” Taeyong purses his lips, “Maybe I should get something too, then.”

Doyoung’s curious about Taeyong’s drunk habits, but it’s not enough for him to agree, “Nah, it’s fine, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

Taeyong hums, “I don’t want to be a party pooper, though.”

“You’re not,” Doyoung laughs, squeezing Taeyong’s hand reassuringly.

That catches Taemin’s eyes, “Are you guys…?”

Doyoung revels in the way the instant blush on Taeyong’s cheeks are so prominent, he can see them in the dim light.

“Yeah,” Doyoung tries to sound sheepish, lifting their intertwined hands to make a show of it.

“That’s a relief!” Taemin says, taking a big sip from his drink (a long island tea, Doyoung thinks). “I told Gongmyung you guys would be good together.”

“Relief?” Taeyong echoes, eyebrows raising.

“Oh, yeah,” Taemin takes another sip, and Doyoung wants to warn him to slow down (the long island tea is a dangerous drink). “After Gongmyung mentioned the coffee date to me, I was so confused.”

It’s then that Doyoung’s heart drops, and the back of his neck starts to prickle, like his sixth sense was telling him to _hold on, because here comes the deep waters_.

Yuta’s eyes grow to the size of saucers on the other side of Taeyong, blinking at Doyoung rapidly, panicked.

Taeyong sits up straighter, hand growing cold in Doyoung’s, “What about it?”

“Gongmyung said Doyoung didn’t want to date you at first,” Taemin prattles on, and Doyoung literally feels the temperature in the room drop tenfold. “But I’m so glad you guys made it, you look so good together!”

The music around them zones out to a silent buzz, and the silence is deafening. Doyoung doesn’t know he’s holding his breath until his eyes start to water. He inhales, shallow and short, not wanting to make any sudden movements.

Taeyong’s face is drained of color, his hand limp in Doyoung’s tight grasp, eyes suddenly looking a lot worn and defeated.

It’s a look Doyoung never wants to have to look at ever again,

“Taemin!” Yuta yelps, hopping right off his seat, quick to usher the other away. “Tell me about Taesun’s wedding! Did you find the suit? How was – ”

Yuta’s voice blends into white noise.

Doyoung’s eyes don’t leave Taeyong’s face, and he hears his heart breaking in his ears when Taeyong’s eyes start to water. Tears pool at his lower lash line, not enough to fall over, but enough for Doyoung to speak,

“Taeyong – ”

“No,” Taeyong is firm, snatching his hand away from Doyoung’s in his temporary lapse. He swipes at his eyes quickly, sniffling once, and his expression changes; hard, stoic, _cold_.

Doyoung doesn’t know what to do with his hands, with what words, with himself. He so wishes for Taeyong to say something, _anything,_ that could give him a slightest hint on what to say, or do.

He’s about to try again when Taeyong stands abruptly, not even hesitating when he bumps into the table, knocking over the leftovers of Yuta’s drink. It happens so quick, and Doyoung’s only blinked once, but Taeyong’s already out of sight.

“Doyoung!” Yuta’s by his side now, shaking his shoulders roughly. “Doyoung! What are you _doing_! Go!”

He shakes his head, scrambling off the seat and towards the exit, forcing his jelly legs to work, ignoring the questioning calls from the others.

The air outside is cold, colder than Doyoung thought it’d be, and he doesn’t recall Taeyong grabbing his jacket. He looks frantically up and down the street, squinting when he sees a hunched figure turn the corner quickly. Following his gut, Doyoung takes off, running as fast as he can to chase after him.

“Taeyong!” He shouts when he turns the corner. It reverberates off the buildings lining the street, and the figure speeds up, confirming his suspicions. “Taeyong!”

The other is near jogging now, desperate to get away, and Doyoung sprints to cover the gap between them, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug at Taeyong’s elbow. He stumbles backwards, and Doyoung screeches to a halt to steady the other,

“Sorry, I – ”

“No,” Taeyong’s tone is steady, just like the one he used with Jaehyun at the cake tasting. His eyes are unyielding, and Doyoung never wants to be on this side of Taeyong’s glare ever again. “I don’t want to talk. Please leave me alone.” He snatches his elbow roughly away from Doyoung, walking away hastily, returning to his quick pace.

Doyoung somehow imagined Taeyong to be a little more dramatic, because then it’d show that he still cared. This is _worse_.

“Wait, no,” Doyoung sputters, the cold air getting to him, but he’s only thinking about how Taeyong’s in a thin cardigan, having left his jacket at the club. “Wait, please,” he nearly begs, trying to keep up, cursing his unhealthy self, “Let me explain, I – ”

“Stop,” Taeyong doesn’t spare Doyoung the time of day, focused on getting to the nearest subway station. “I don’t want to hear it. Please leave me alone.”

“No, just hear me out, please,” Doyoung wants to reach out to stop him again, but the way Taeyong flinches at his every move… He decides against it. “I told Gongmyung that I – ”

“I’m serious,” Taeyong raises his voice and hurries, the subway exit coming into view. “Don’t push it, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Taeyong, I – ”

He stops in his tracks, spinning sharply on his heels to face Doyoung, arms folded across his chest, “ _Fine_ ,” the tone of it so malicious that it makes Doyoung do a double take. “What do you want?”

Doyoung’s mind blanks instantly, incapable of thinking when Taeyong’s staring at him, expression a mixture of both hatred and sadness. He didn’t ever think that was even possible, to have so much anger displayed in such a composed state,

“I – I”

He stutters, and Taeyong exhales loudly, turning away immediately.

“Wait! Taeyong, I – ”

“I _asked_ you,” Taeyong whirls around again, jabbing a thin finger in Doyoung’s chest. The venom in his voice is enough to rival Maleficent’s. “I asked you to tell me the _truth_ , and you lied.”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to speak, how to think, “It was the truth, I – ”

“Lies!” Taeyong accuses, stepping forward dauntingly. Doyoung staggers backwards. “I _knew_ something was off when I asked you that morning, but I believed in you, because I really liked you,” his voice breaks and so does Doyoung’s heart, “But you lied.”

“No, I didn’t, I – ”

“I asked for the truth, Doyoung.”

And he recoils at that, not at all used to the way his name is spat, with so much distrust, and hurt, and every horrible feeling mushed to one big pile of sadness weighing heavy in Doyoung’s heart.

“Is what Taemin said true?” Taeyong’s eyes are positively burning with rage. Curiosity.

Doyoung is exasperated, “Okay, _yes_ , but – ”

The tear that escapes Taeyong shuts him up immediately, and Taeyong’s face crumples, biting down hard on his lip until it turns pale.

“I can’t believe it,” Taeyong gasps softly, stepping back, looking at Doyoung with horror.

Doyoung wants to pull all of his hair out, “I did say that, but I like you _now_ ,” he pleads, “It’s not important that I didn’t like you at first – ”

He regrets it the moment it leaves his lips, watching Taeyong’s expression contort from one of hurt to one of fury,

“I _told_ you it was important to me!” Taeyong nearly yells, and Doyoung blanches at the sheer amount of vehemence in his voice. “I told you, and you lied, I said – ”

“I know what you said!” Doyoung cuts him off, wringing his hands between them, and Taeyong takes another step away. He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself, “I know what you said, I do, I’m sorry I said it’s not important, I’m sorry,” Doyoung sighs, closing his eyes, “I said I didn’t want to date you because I was struggling with the whole Gongmyung-getting-married thing, okay, absolutely nothing to do with you or my first impression of you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about – ”

Taeyong rushes to interrupt, “You say that about everything! You said that about the black knight promises, you said that about Gongmyung, and that was _not_ nothing, you even spoke to Yuta first about it! If you’d trust him so much, maybe you should be with him instead!”

Ah. There it is.

“Why, why, _why_ would you think I’d ever date Yuta?!” Doyoung fumes, trying to catch a hold on himself, but failing when he continues. “I only look at you, Taeyong! I haven’t looked at anyone else since I met you. I didn’t look at anyone else at the suit store, or at the restaurant, or at the bar, or at _any_ bar anywhere, for that matter, okay? I’m only looking at you, all the time, just you. Only you.”

Taeyong’s posture changes, and he gulps visibly, “I – ”

“I’m telling you right now,” Doyoung can’t stop, “That you can be _sure_ with me. You want to be sure that I like you? I do, I do like you,” Taeyong parts his lips to speak, but Doyoung continues, “I liked you the moment I saw you, with your parka and pink hair, just like I said, I only had,” he doesn’t want to say it, “reservations because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“What are you talking about?” Taeyong near-whispers, brows furrowing close together.

“I already knew I liked you the moment I saw you,” Doyoung says it again, and he will say it a million times for Taeyong to believe him. “And I grew to like you so much that I was afraid of even taking the first step, because I was already thinking about our last.”

“Doyoung, you never said – ”

“Yuta,” the mention of him forces the words to die in Taeyong’s throat. “He was the one who convinced me that I’d miss all the shots I never take, a true athlete,” he laughs bitterly, and it’s so unlike him that it hurts to hear.

“I didn’t – ”

“You said,” Doyoung raises a hand in defeat. “You said that you’re afraid of being the only one falling in love… Have you ever thought about how I felt? Is the possibility of me falling in love with you so _completely_ unimaginable?”

“It’s different,” Taeyong grits out, eyes growing wide at the accusations that even Doyoung knew to be baseless. “It’s to protect myself from – ”

“But have you ever thought about how _I_ might get hurt too?” Doyoung’s been staring at the ground, trying to keep his mind clear, but he looks up at that, feeling the corner of his eyes prickle.

“Stop, Doyoung – ”

“Or did you just clump me with the others? The ones that hurt you?” Doyoung’s jaw tightens. “Am I not different from the others?”

“Doyoung, no, it’s – ”

“Because you’re different for me,” Doyoung sighs, tears spilling out of pure exhaustion, from running around trying to keep everything in place, in check, in order, because that’s what he does, and that’s what he loves to do, care for others, but he’s just _so_ tired. “You’re different, okay, I feel at home with you,” he rubs at his eyes with the sleeves of his jacket like a five-year-old getting yelled at. “I feel all sorts of things when I’m with you, I can’t put them all into words, I don’t know how – ”

“Doyoung, stop, please, I – ”

“No, no, no,” Doyoung is back at looking at the ground, “I guess I was too hopeful about this, about _us_ , I should’ve seen it coming, I should’ve known. You _throw_ me to Yuta as if I don’t want to be around you, as if I could even bear to think of being together with someone else, as if I’m not already constantly thinking about you.”

“Stop, Doyoung, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have – ”

Doyoung isn’t even listening anymore, “As if I haven’t already fallen in love with you.”

Taeyong’s hand comes down heavy, whacking him in the chest, so hard that it knocks the wind out of his stomach.

Doyoung looks up to see tears streaming down Taeyong’s reddened cheeks, “I – ”

“Please, stop,” he whimpers, fingers curling around the collar of Doyoung’s jacket to pull him close, and Doyoung lets himself be pulled, until Taeyong’s cheek is resting against his chest, finally breaking the barrier between them. “Please, don’t,” a sob wrecks through Taeyong, but Doyoung’s still dazed, hands limp by his sides. “Don’t accuse me,” he hiccups, crying open-mouthed into Doyoung’s chest, “of saying things I never said.”

“Like what?” Doyoung really needs to sit down.

“I never said you weren’t different,” he whines, tears staining Doyoung’s shirt. “and I never threw you to someone else,” Taeyong takes a shuddering breath, “And I never said I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Doyoung wraps his arms stiffly around Taeyong’s shoulders, pressing him against his chest as he cries even harder, “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into his hair, weary to the bone.

“You,” Taeyong punches him weakly. “Don’t say things like that ever.”

Doyoung closes his eyes, feeling Taeyong breath hot against his torso, “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I just wanted you to know how sure I am about you.”

“I’m sorry too,” Taeyong mumbles into his shirt. “I didn’t mean to project my insecurities onto you,” he hiccups again, burying his face further into Doyoung.

“I love you,” Doyoung is resolute, and Taeyong looks up at him, eyes already puffy, with tears and snot all over. It should’ve been gross, but it wasn’t because it’s Taeyong. So, he leans down to kiss Taeyong, not really caring that he’s still mid-sob, just tired of fighting, and never wanting to do this ever again.

“Ew,” Taeyong says when he pulls away, brushing away his tears with his sweater.

“That’s what you want to hear after a kiss,” Doyoung laughs dryly.

“I love you,” Taeyong brings a hand up to cup Doyoung’s cheek, brushing his thumb lightly against the soft skin. “I’m sorry I got mad.”

Doyoung leans into Taeyong’s caress, “I love you too.”

They hug like that awhile, both completely drained from the whirlwind of emotions.

“I still have one more wish, right?” Doyoung says suddenly.

Taeyong nods, “What is it?”

Doyoung plucks them apart enough for him to look Taeyong in the eye, “Go to the wedding with me? As my date?”

He doesn’t know if Taeyong understands the connotations under it all; everyone he knew was going to be at the wedding, all his friends, his family. He wanted to introduce Taeyong to everyone and anyone, parade him around, _Look here, everyone! This is the person I love! This is he, and I love him so!_

It’s a big decision, but he’s sure.

The sharp intake of breath is indication that he does, “Yeah, of course,” he agrees, a smile growing on his lips. “There’s no one else I’d rather be going with.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Doyoung.”

And his heart is pieced back together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos + comments / criticisms are greatly appreciated ♡ feedback warmly welcomed! [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung) | [more notes](https://jenhyung.tumblr.com)


	3. Epilogue: The wedding, December 18th.

 As expected, Doyoung’s mother absolutely _adores_ Taeyong. They spend a good portion of the reception discussing homemade recipes, and gardening tips and tricks.

“I can’t believe your boyfriend one-upped me at my own wedding,” Hyesung scowls, and it’s a stark contrast to her elegant gown. “I’ve been trying to get grandma’s cookie recipe for years, and she just hands it to him on a silver platter? What!”

Doyoung shrugs, eyes enraptured by how stunning Taeyong looks in his full black suit, hair pushed back stylishly, but neat enough to impress, “It’s just how he is.”

“Ah,” Hyesung sighs, plucking a champagne glass from a waiter passing by, “I see Gongmyung suffering under my third aunt’s interrogation, I’d better go save him before he drowns.”

“Save a dance for me later,” Doyoung calls out, watching her gracefully glide away in her princess-like dress. He turns back to where his mother is by their table, but Taeyong is nowhere in sight. He scans the room quickly, easily spotting the slender boy by the fruit punch, a smile on his face as he chats with Yuta, who had a plate of chocolate eclairs in his hand.

It’s still a little strange to see Taeyong and Yuta both together in the same frame, but Taeyong’d decided to make friends with Yuta after learning that he was to move in with Doyoung after the wedding.

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” Taeyong had said, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction (Doyoung hopes).

It started out incredibly unnatural, but after exchanging insults and jibes, Doyoung thinks Taeyong’s taken a liking to Yuta’s constant state of hunger, and has offered to cook for him after his tough soccer practices. With time, Doyoung knows that the both of them would eventually come to like the other.

“What are you guys talking about?” Doyoung sneaks up from behind Taeyong mid-laugh, snaking an arm around his shoulders.

“Well,” Taeyong hums, turning around to kiss him, chaste, quick. Yuta gags. “Yuta was just telling me about how you never really left the house before you met me.”

It was true. Days where he’s spent cooped up in his room where long gone in favor of talking walks in the park with Taeyong, going to the movies with Taeyong, to restaurants he’d never think of going to.

“Whoa,” Doyoung is impressed. “I expected him to be telling you my embarrassing pasts – ”

“Don’t worry,” Taeyong pats him lightly on the chest. “We’re meeting next Thursday for brunch to discuss everything embarrassing about you, babe.”

“Wait,” Doyoung can’t believe his ears. “You guys are going for brunch? Without me?”

“Yeah,” Yuta pipes up. “Taeyong’s bringing me to that hotel on 31st Street, says he knows someone there who’d be perfect for me. And there’s good breakfast too.”

Doyoung balks, “Jaehyun?”

“Mmm,” Taeyong nods, looking pleased. He tugs at Doyoung’s wrist before the other can reply, “Come dance with me?”

It’s a familiar invitation, and Doyoung can’t help but grin.

“Go have fun, children,” Yuta mocks in an elderly tone. “I’ll be at the table, talking to Mrs. Kim about the different kinds of vegetables in kimchi,” he rolls his eyes, piling a few more eclairs onto his plate before stalking off.

Taeyong pulls Doyoung onto the sparse dance floor, smiling when he winds his hands around Doyoung’s neck, and Doyoung’s hands find their way naturally to Taeyong’s waist.

“I can’t dance,” Doyoung smiles, following Taeyong’s footsteps easily now that it’s a slow song, without much grinding and body rolling required.

“Sure, you can,” Taeyong sing-songs, positively radiating.

“So,” Doyoung clears his throat. “How was it? Meeting my mother?”

Taeyong sways them around, “It was lovely. Well, Gongmyung was Gongmyung, but everyone else was lovely. Mrs. Kim even offered me over for dinner sometime,” Taeyong beams. “She wants to show me your baby photos.”

“Now I’m nervous my family’s going to take you away from me,” Doyoung feigns fear, and Taeyong laughs.

“No,” Taeyong tugs lightly at Doyoung’s hair. “I’ll be yours. Just yours.”

Doyoung know it’s a loaded promise, but he’s hopeful, he’s always hopeful when it comes to Taeyong,

“Forever?”

Taeyong kisses him, slow and sweet, pulling away when they hear Yuta clearing his throat, and they laugh,

“I expect a ring, but, yes, forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to tie up loose ends ♡ feedback warmly welcomed! [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung) | [more notes](https://jenhyung.tumblr.com)


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